Lemons Are Not Red
by lookskindagreyout
Summary: ...well, they aren't. Supposedly. Astrid unknowingly stirs up some competition between the Bishop boys while struggling to keep peace, or at least silence, in the lab. Possible Walstrid, possible Pastrid, who knows.
1. Chapter 1

Well, here it is. Bishop rivalry, because it was just bound to happen eventually, and for all the wrong reasons. With the simple formula of Bolivia and Walstrid, these problems can be avoided, but I simply live to scrape up a little conflict, and I think I've at last managed it.

Choices of this kind aren't simple at all, I'm afraid. Poor Astrid.

_*It's only legal, you know, to tell you that I do not own Fringe, nor any of the characters associated with it. Which could be anyone, at this point._

Chapter 1.

Sunday Morning, 3.18

"So, where is she?" Walter questioned sleepily, his hair flat on one side from his pillow.

"I think she's under the bed, I can hear her moving around," Astrid responded, and he shuffled in, dressed in flannel pajamas and a robe. He carried with him a black bag filled with first aid supplies in case of emergency, "She woke me up around two, acting really strangely. I'm really glad you could come, and I didn't know who else to call…"

"No problem," Peter grumbled, flouncing onto Astrid's sofa and shutting his eyes, "Wake me up when you're done, Dr. Doolittle."

Walter only paused in the hall at the threshold of the door, "This is your bedroom?" he questioned.

"Yeah. Is there a problem?"

"No, no," he murmured, rubbing his eye with his fingertips, "I must ask permission to enter, it's only civil."

"What are you, a vampire? Go," Astrid chuckled, pushing him inside.

Walter slumped this case onto the bed, slowly settling on his knees with a sigh, "Did she display any odd behaviors prior to waking you? Vomiting, unusually frequent urination?"

"No," Astrid answered, "Well… she drank a lot of water- is that bad?"

"Hmm." Walter snapped his bag open, rummaging around to pull out a flashlight, "no, it isn't bad. Did you change her meals?"

"No. I use the same food, just more of it. She could be eating for six," Astrid said as Walter twisted the flashlight on, the bright beam flashing off the ceiling before he muted it with his palm.

Walter rolled his eyes, muttering, "Woman," and crouching down to push aside the comforter and peek under the bed, "Mittens," he called softly, "hey girl, are you there?"

"Is she okay?" Astrid questioned in distress, peeking under with him, "Mittens, ki-ki?"

"Which is it, Mittens or Ki-ki? You call her both," Walter said, allowing a thin beam of light to escape the gap of his fingers over the flashlight in search of the cat.

"Her name is Mittens," Astrid replied flatly, "and 'Ki-ki' is just short for 'kitty-kitty'. You can remember my cat's name, but you can't remember mine."

"I like animals," Walter admitted sheepishly, "ah, there she is," two green irises glinted back at them in the dark, and the tabby face of Mittens came into view, "hello, Mittens. You said she'd been pregnant for how long?"

"I'm not sure, actually. She got out last month, that must have been when she… you know…"

"Got 'knocked up', in laymen's terms," Walter nodded, "the timing does seem correct. I'll just have to have a look," Walter shifted to lay flat on his stomach, pushing shoeboxes aside to crawl slowly under the bed. Astrid echoed the procedure, pulling her oversized tee-shirt back down her thighs as she pushed herself under the bed.

Mittens meowed softly, rising from her curled place on an old sweater to rub against her owner affectionately. Walter took the opportunity to shine the flashlight on two dark wads of fur on the fabric, "Mittens, you're a mama!" Astrid exclaimed happily, kissing the cat.

"They're not breathing," Walter said quietly. Carefully, he reached out to touch one of the forms, and a grave crease formed at the side of his mouth.

"Oh no," Astrid whispered sadly.

"It happens," Walter said, "often the mother will loose the first litter, as they are simply unaccustomed to the complications of birth. Had they survived, you would also have found that Mittens would have had a sort of detachment from them."

"Poor ki-ki," Astrid sighed, hugging Mittens and stroking her fur, "I'm sorry, girl."

Walter furrowed his brows for a few moments, "Miss Allspark, I need you to go into the kit and get my dropper. Then go into the kitchen and heat some milk to a simmer, don't scorch it. I have an idea."

Only a few minutes later, Walter was shuffling his wool-socked feet across the carpet, carefully tending to the lifeless kittens in one of Astrid's numerous shoe boxes, lined with a ratted tee-shirt, as Astrid entered with the sauce pan of hot milk, "A mother's first milk is incredibly rich in proteins, fats, and lactose. It also contains vitamins vital to the survival of the young, starting their systems rolling, so to speak," Mittens meowed as Walter delved into his bag, gathering a mixture of bottles and measuring out selective amounts to add to the milk. He filled the dropper with the concoction and gave it to Astrid to hold as they sat on the floor on either side of the box.

"Wool is a natural conductor of static, and cotton is a natural ground. It should absorb any extra current without harming the kittens," Walter said, raising his hands over the box.

"Wait- you're going to shock my babies?!" Astrid demanded.

Walter smiled.

Astrid looked away as he gently touched his fingertips to the dead kitten's chest. There was a soft pop of electricity discharging, and no response. Walter shuffled his feet and tried again, messaging just under the ribcage with his thumb delicately.

"Walter, stop," Astrid said at last, sickened and sad, "this is sick; you're not Frankenstein, you can't-"

A high mewing escaped the box as the sightless animal twitched and stretched into life, and Walter gave a small laugh of surprised delight, "Quickly! Warm it and give it the milk!"

Astrid crossed herself and took the kitten from him with trembling hands.

A few hours had passed when Mittens was settled and sleeping with her two boys, Viktor (as in Von Frankenstein) and Magellan (as in Peter's horribly secret middle name) in the shoebox. Walter at last set to packing up his things into his bag, and Astrid looked up at him, "Walter, that was amazing," she admitted.

He smiled, "You're welcome." there came a soft squeak from the box, and Walter chuckled, "and you're welcome too, little one." he gave Mittens a few strokes on the head, "Now, I'm not expecting her to fully accept them for a bit, possibly ever, so you may have to manually feed them until they can fend for themselves. But they should be alright, for now."

Astrid smiled softly, "Thank you," she said, leaning over the shoebox to give him a tight hug, "so much."

Walter did not seem to know what to do with himself as she moved away, "Yes, well. There is just one more thing…"

"What is it?" Astrid asked.

"Do you have a spatula?"

"Yes, why?"

Walter smiled shyly, "Breakfast, please?"

She chuckled, getting to her feet, "Sure thing, Walter," and Astrid headed for the kitchen.

She was cooking to a tune on the radio when Peter entered, stretching and yawning, "What's up?" he asked, his voice hoarse from his sleep.

"Just making breakfast," Astrid replied cheerfully, "bacon or sausage?"

"Bacon. How's Mittens, how many kittens?"

"Two. They died." Peter paused, confused at her pleasant disposition, and he only became more confused as she said, "We named them Viktor and Magellan."

"I'm sorry, did I miss something?" Peter questioned as he sat, and Astrid placed his plate of eggs and bacon before him on the counter.

"Walter did his mumbo-jumbo and revived them," Astrid beamed, "It was really amazing, he did this thing with static electricity and milk and… it was pretty cool."

"What'd you say you named them?" Peter asked around his bite.

Astrid grinned, "Viktor and Magellan."

Peter frowned, reddening slightly, "Damn it, Walter. Where is he now?"

"I think he's still looking after them. I'm going to bring him his pancakes," Astrid said, grabbing up the syrup and heading for the bedroom. She found Walter sleeping on the floor, slumped against the side of the bed with the box in his lap. He woke as Mittens sounded, jumping from her place and waking the kittens, setting them into a high-pitched frenzy, "'Morning," Astrid said as Mittens wound around her ankles, meowing for the pancakes.

"Morning," Walter replied dazedly, sitting up to rub his eyes, and tend to the kittens.

Astrid took them from him and replaced them with pancakes, "I'll do it. You have to eat," she said, and set to filling the eyedropper with milk, now cooled with the passage of time.

"Make sure it's at least body temperature, or it will cause them to shock," Walter yawned, the bite of scrambled dropping from his fork and into his lap.

"They'll be alright," Astrid said softly, stroking Victor and Magellan's tiny forms with her fingertips. Walter had fallen back asleep, the rest of the breakfast slipping from the plate to join its missing piece in his lap.

xXx


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two

It did not seem that the sun would normally rise to grace the forms of two grown men locked in a constant, unconscious combat of who got the bedspread on the tiny twin-size. The older man would often wake with bruises on his sides, and his son aching from several blind kicks to the knees. Morning was never a glorious occasion, and the day was often started a curse or a cry of pain.

But such was the way of fathers and sons. However odd the two seemed, with one another.

"Get up," Peter growled at Walter, his face buried in the pillow.

"You get up," Walter retorted in a less-that-bright manner, giving the already taunt blanket a yank and rolling over on it, leaving his half-naked son in the cold.

Peter set two feet to the small of Walter's back and shoved him off the mattress. Walter gave a soft grunt as he thudded onto the carpet, and thrashed to the surface of the blankets, "I said get up," Peter snapped, and rolled off the bed, standing and heading for the bathroom.

"Communist," Walter retorted bitterly.

Coffee seemed to be the only way to repair their sour morning bonding, at last reviving their embittered senses, and Walter had his with cream, sugar, and a healthy dose of narcotics. Peter himself seemed to be munching aspirin at an unusually high rate.

"What do you want for breakfast?" Peter asked, massaging his temples.

"I want cheese puffs."

"You can't have cheese puffs for breakfast, you'll get sick. Have some Lucky Charms." Peter said, flapping a hand at the cabinets as he set his face on the counter.

"Why do you ask me what I want when I never get it?" Walter frowned.

"I just love to hear you ramble incessantly. Shut up and eat."

Walter got to his feet, grumbling as he shuffled over to pull open the cabinet and retrieve the box of cereal. He slammed the wooden door loudly, and Peter gave a wail of despondence.

xXx

An average scene of the morning would be the awakening of Astrid Farnsworth, her hand slowly inching across the nightstand like a predator stalking prey, before pouncing to send the chiming alarm clock tumbling to the floor. It was silenced as she rolled onto her back with a sigh, wondering, as she did every day, if she should call in sick. And again she answered herself- no, they were expecting some new equipment in, there was a new case, Walter and Peter were having a fight, Peter and Olivia might have to go somewhere… it was always one thing or another.

Up and at 'em. That was what her mother used to tell her everyday when she got up. She decided to wear her Pepsi sweatshirt, today.

She had a relatively healthy breakfast of a cup of coffee and half a cinnamon bagel with nothing on it. She checked on Viktor and Magellan, sleeping peacefully against their mother's belly in a basket next to the drier, and Astrid grabbed her keys and headed out the door, locking it behind her.

Astrid didn't have a car. She had used to, an old blue Toyota, but she had sold it when she had moved into her apartment, having not much use for the vehicle within such short range of public transportation. As a force of habit, she still grabbed up her keys in the morning and left them on the dresser when she got up.

The bus stop was a short ways off, perhaps two or three blocks past the grocery store and the Dunkin' Donuts at the corner. She ignored her urge for a donut- she may have been a cop, but she'd promised herself a healthy resolution for the springtime. Instead, she deeply inhaled the dewy morning air, trying to ignore the provocative smell of the coffee.

What a crappy trade.

Foot traffic was minor, and cars whooshed past the sidewalk at a relatively regular rate, and Astrid watched them absently as she walked, her thoughts straying aimlessly. She recognized a car up ahead, and brightened.

xXx

_Well if it looks like love, she'd be a crime_

_You'd better lock me up for life._

_I'll do the time, with a smile on my face,_

_Thinking of her in her leather and lace-_

"Hey!" Walter exclaimed as Peter switched the stereo off in the middle of a musical stanza, "I was _listening _to that."

"Give it a rest, Walter," Peter growled, "I've got the worst headache on the planet, right now. Let me have a little quiet, okay?"

Walter frowned, reaching forward to the console to flip on the radio again.

_-She bangs, she bangs _

_Oh baby, when she moves, she moves_

_I go crazy 'cause_

_She looks like a flower, but she stings like a bee_

_Like every girl in history-_

Peter turned off the radio again with a sharp glance at his father, "_Quit_," he warned acidly.

Walter sighed, glaring out the window as he fiddled with the shoulder strap of his seatbelt, "You wouldn't have a headache if you didn't have a hangover. And you wouldn't have a hangover if you didn't get sloshed at the bar of the hotel last night. And you wouldn't have gotten sloshed if you didn't think you could 'get with'-"

"Walter, I am about ten seconds away from squeezing your eyes out of your skull," Peter snapped, "You have headphones, use them."

"I don't like the headphones, they make my ears hurt," Walter complained, "I told you already."

"What happened to your Marshmallows?"

"My what?"

"The headphones I got you, the damn Marshmallows. You said they don't make your ears hurt." Peter rubbed his temples irritably, his head pounding.

"Of course marshmallows don't hurt my ears, they're sugary and delicious," Walter scoffed, "what planet are you from?"

"You _ate_ your Marshmallows?!" Peter demanded.

"No. What is wrong with you? I left them at the lab, sheesh." Walter rolled his eyes.

Peter released the wheel and lurched for his father.

xXx

Astrid's eyes widened as the Vista Cruiser swerved on the road sharply, tires screeching in the quiet morning air. She rushed forward a few steps as the car approached, and she could see two forms struggling in the front bench seat, and the car came to a halt halfway on the sidewalk, citizens exclaiming and hurrying away. Astrid darted to the vehicle, concerned.

"If you make another sound, I'll drive us off a bridge, understand?!" Peter demanded, smushing his father's face into the glass of the window on the off driver's side.

"He's so _angry_!" Walter wailed in warning to onlookers, trying to push his son away.

"Hey!" Astrid yelled sharply, and they looked up at her, "Knock it off!" she commanded. They looked at each other sheepishly, and Peter released Walter, who set to rubbing a bit of drool from the window with his sleeve, "Pull this hunk of junk off the sidewalk before you get into trouble," Astrid said, and Peter obliged.

"It's not junk," Walter was muttering as Astrid got into the car, sitting in the back seat, "it's a family man car…"

"Listen," Astrid said, setting her elbows on the back of the front bench seat as she leaned forward, frowning, "I don't care if you two yell your heads off in the lab, but endangering the public with your troubles is irresponsible. You're grown men- act like it."

"He started it," Peter muttered.

"He wouldn't let me have what I wanted for breakfast," Walter protested.

"You stole the blankets!" Peter said angrily.

"You kicked me!" Walter cried accusingly.

"You kicked me first!" Peter retorted.

"Stop it!" Astrid exclaimed, "Jesus, listen to yourselves! Just take a breather for ten seconds, would you? What ever the problem is, it's way too stupid for all of this. Calm down and let's just drive to the lab, alright?"

Peter sighed, "Alright."

"I'm sorry, son," Walter apologized, "For kicking you. And being loud. And leaving a dead frog in your house shoes."

"It's okay, Walter. I'm sorry, too. This was all…" he looked in the mirror, where Astrid only threw up her hands, "this was all pretty stupid. And I kept the frog, I knew you'd want it back. It was in the Lucky Charms."

Walter's face blanched of color.

"Great," Astrid beamed before they could start again, "Harvard, ho!"

xXx


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three.

"Where's Olivia?" Peter questioned as they entered the cold lab, and he flicked the light breakers, to bulbs humming as they warmed up.

"He _fancies_ her," Walter whispered to Astrid with a wink.

Astrid ignored him, "She's on assignment again. Hopefully done this afternoon- some of that annoying review crap. Broyals said he'd try to get her out of as much of it as he could," Astrid set to her duties of starting up the electronic equipment.

"I don't know how any of you can take it," Peter chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled off his coat and scarf, "I'd go crazy, if I had to report on everything I did, everything I thought."

"Crazy?" Walter questioned, looking over his shoulder from checking his specimens in the tall steel freezer.

"Not you." Peter assured him, and Walter shrugged, returning to his task.

"Well, you get used to it," Astrid admitted, "Truthfully, I didn't use to think about it much, I just did it because it needed to get done. But, really, with the stuff that's going on… sometimes I think I'm writing a science fiction novel."

"H.G. Wells ain't got nothing on us," Peter smirked, and Astrid laughed.

Walter, however, looked horrified, "You mustn't take the name of Wells in vain!" he exclaimed.

"He was just a _writer_, Walter," Peter rolled his eyes.

Walter looked very near fainting, "Just a…?!" He threw his jacket onto the gurney in a clumsy dash for the back office, leaving instruments where they landed without concern. The door slammed behind him, and Astrid and Peter only glanced at each other with a raised brow.

"You think I'd insulted his religion," Peter said.

"With Walter, you just may have," Astrid conceded with a smile, dismissing the situation, "so, what about you? What was with the fiasco this morning, huh?"

Peter slumped into a chair beside her with a long, exhausted sigh, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips, "Ah, it wasn't anything. Just the average, I just wasn't up for it, this time."

"You've got a hangover- I'm surprised Walter is even _alive_," Astrid said, typing her username and password into the computer, "Mine get pretty bad, I'll admit."

Peter raised his eyebrows with surprise, "Never pegged you for a party type," he said.

"And just what _did_ you peg me for?" Astrid questioned, arching a brow.

"Not the party type," he responded.

"Then I've got news for you. I can party with the best of them," Astrid said smugly, "who says my Saturdays are as mundane as my job?"

"Well, if your job gives any consideration to mundane, I'd say no one can make assessments," Peter replied, smoothing his hand over the back of his neck, "it's just nice to know that not everyone spends their Saturday nights locked in a hotel room watching the history channel with their aging and mentally precarious father."

"You make it sound like he chains you to the bedpost," Astrid chuckled.

"Pretty much," Peter said, stretching with a quiet grunt, "It drives me crazy, sometimes. P.s., how's your cat?"

"Just fine," Astrid said, and faced him with a devilish grin, "Peter '_Magellan'_ Bishop. I've been meaning to razz you about that."

"Ugh, no, stop it. And don't you go spreading that around- I've got almost everyone convinced that my middle name is Marcus."

"I think 'Magellan' is alright," Astrid said. "It could be worse, I guess."

"Like how?" Peter questioned, "What's worse than being named after the first circumnavigator, hmm?"

"Danyelle. That one's pretty bad," Astrid said, stretching across the desk to retrieve her coffee and pull it to rest beside her keyboard.

"Why's that bad?" Peter asked, then paused in realization, "…oh." He diffused the situation with one of his more charming grins, "But I guess you're right- I could be named 'Walter'."

"Yes, son?" Walter called from the office.

"Forget it, Walter," Peter called, and Astrid stifled a laugh. Peter found himself once again surprised to realize that Astrid was pretty damn cute. And it was not a sudden realization, either- the feeling had been creeping up on him for some time; she was the only person who had even the most remote notion of how much of a handful his father could be.

He liked her a lot.

Peter cleared his throat, "Listen, Astrid-"

There was a crash, and they jumped in their seats, attention turned to the still office. After a few moments, there was a soft grunt, and a muffled call, "Peter, Miss, Olivia, Agent Francis, Gene… um, anyone who can lift quite a lot? I'm a bit stuck, and- and- _hello_?!" Panic peaked his words.

"You want to get a drink sometime?" Peter asked casually.

Astrid gaped in amusement, and struck him on the shoulder, "You _jerk_!" and he laughed, following her on the way to the office collapse, "We're coming, Walter!"

"Please hurry, I'm running out of air!"

xXx

"Oh- well, _here _ they are," Walter mused to himself, tugging a heavy, dusty box of well-thumbed, yellowed paperbacks out from under a wide shelf along the wall. He stood with them, shaking a spider from his hair as he crossed the floor, "Good as new, see?" He smiled as he looked up, holding up one of the novels. His smile slowly faded, and he sighed, as there was no one in the lab to share his discovery, "Never mind." He slumped the box of books onto the desktop, shuffling away.

In passing, he paused before a small, potted plant that had been brought in and placed in the corner to liven up the place. The attempt had failed, as the thing was but a twig with only three almond-shaped, waxy-green leaves, "Hey, _Ficus_," Walter hissed at it, as if the word were a curse, "What cha doin', _Ficus_?"

Ficus, thankfully, did not respond to Walter's threatening nature. Walter took a challenging step toward the plant, drawing himself up, "I see. Is that so? And just what makes you think that your idea is any better than mine, hmm? I think your idea _sucks_. In fact, _you_ suck. I hate your guts, Ficus, what do you think of that?!"

A leaf only quivered at the slight air movement of the door being opened, and Walter saw it as a defiance, "Say that to my _face_, Ficus!" he cried, poking the thin, weak stem, "And see if I don't rip you up by the roots, you little-"

"Walter?" Astrid questioned, and he jumped, "are you… fighting with the plant?"

"Um… yes?" Walter responded, slightly abashed.

Astrid laughed and nodded, "Well, teach it not to mouth off. Assert yourself, or the plant will dominate your entire relationship. I read that in Plant Cosmo."

Walter chuckled, turning back to the Ficus with an upraised finger, "Consider this as a warning, Ficus," he said darkly, "I've got my eye on you, understand?"

"What's this?" Astrid asked, eyeing the dusty, cob-webbed box atop her filing.

"Oh, it's a present for Peter," Walter exclaimed, rushing to the box and drawing out one of the books.

"A spider infestation?" Astrid questioned.

Walter snorted, "No! It's my old collection of H.G. Wells novels, see? If he _reads_ them, he won't be nearly as dismissing of their potential to inspire even the most bland of intellects," he blew the dust from the spine, reading the faint print, _The Invisible Man,_ "They're fascinating."

"They're pretty good. You might want to clean them up a little, before you pass the torch," Astrid said, beginning to shuffle around in the paper grocery bags she had just set down.

"You read Wells?" Walter asked, awed.

"Just a few. _War of The Worlds, The Sleeper Awakes, The Time Machine_-"

"_The Time Machine _is my favorite!" Walter exclaimed happily.

Astrid smiled, "Like I said, he's alright," she said.

Walter smiled contently, and sat down, beginning to clean the books with the tails of his lab coat, "Who is your favorite writer?" he questioned.

Astrid paused, "What?"

"I asked who your favorite writer is. Have you read anything good, lately?" Walter looked up at her, his expression prose and innocent.

Astrid blinked, and took a seat, scratching behind her ear, "Wow. Um."

"Is there a problem?" Walter asked.

"No. I just haven't talked literature since, well… hell, I don't know."

"Me, neither."

Astrid laughed shortly, "I'll bet. I guess… I'm pretty big Prachett fan." She reddened slightly as she said it, fully expecting him turn his nose up at the notion of a fantasy writer.

Walter watched her blankly, "Is he good?"

"Well, yeah, I think so. His concepts are pretty fresh."

"Do you have any of his books?" Walter asked.

"A few," Astrid admitted, continuing to blush.

"Could I read them?"

"I don't think you'd like them…"

"My son as collateral?" Walter smiled.

Astrid laughed, "No, I'll bring them tomorrow, don't sweat it. Really, I haven't read anything new for a while, I'm pretty out-of-date along the lines of recent literature…"

"Me, neither!" Walter repeated again, "Peter won't let me go to the library, not after…last time." he phrased his last two words darkly.

"Oh! Speaking of Peter," Astrid delved into the bag, "I heard that you two were arguing over blankets, and I figured-"

"Um, that," Walter said, his ears reddening slightly, "you see… I could call down to the desk for another blanket, but…"

Astrid looked up at him, arching a brow, "But what?"

"I… um, this sounds odd, but I enjoy being close to him," Walter admitted, his eyes everywhere but level with hers, "I can't touch him, you know, but… he's warm. Very warm."

Astrid nodded in understanding, "I get it."

"They say that cold people are weak. Do you think I'm weak?"

"Well, I think you just have low circulation, you've said it yourself," Astrid smiled, "and I even countered your dilemma. Rather than conceding to Peter's wishes, I went the sure-to-be-infuriating distance and just got a queen-sized comforter," Astrid pulled out the plastic-covered blanket, tossing it into his lap, "more than enough for you two to be nice and toasty."

Walter looked at the blanket for a few moments, and grabbed a book from the desktop, shakily jamming it into her hands, "Take this," he said.

"No- Walter, you don't have to-"

"Peter can live without a complete collection. I want you to have this. You know me rather well, miss, and I don't know how you managed it," he smiled, "but it's nice to know that someone's trying to find a way to handle me."

Astrid smiled down at the dog-eared cover of _The Time Machine_, "Thanks, Walter," and she carefully opened the cover to see his initials written in faded pencil.

"My middle name is Magellan, too," Walter admitted sheepishly.

xXx


	4. Chapter 4

_You know, I'm really quite pleased. When I started writing this, I didn't think anyone would really care whether this was a Walstrid or a Pastrid… but the votes are coming in right and left, and with some considerably strong arguments on either side. When I said that I'd found a bit of conflict, I didn't think it would be among Pastrid and Walstrid enthusiasts! ^ ^ ~F_

Chapter Four.

"Hey, what's that?" Peter grabbed up the novel out of Astrid's hands as she blinked, taken aback from his sudden appearance across the café table. Peter grinned as he read in an announcer's tone, "The time? 802,701 A.D.. The Place? An Earth stranger than you can possibly imagine…" he chuckled, flipping the novel to the front cover, "What the hell is this?"

Astrid flushed slightly, taking a drink of her Starbucks, "What are you doing here?" she questioned with a smirk.

"Oh, _The Time Machine_? Walter's got you reading his delusional novels too, is that it?" he flipped the worn cover open, musing the first page, "Sorry. He's not going to quiz you or anything, you don't have to read it…"

Astrid carefully took the book back from him, "No, it's cool, I haven't read it in a while. I've never been a big science fiction buff, but-" she laughed slightly, shaking her head, "it's the damnedest thing, really…"

"What?" Peter questioned, taking a seat across from her and grabbing up her cup. He smelled it and made a face, "Banana, ew."

"Well… you know how, when you read a book, you get a certain feel for the way the characters are supposed to look, and the way they talk and stuff, right?"

"Uh-huh. My high school anatomy instructor narrates the manuals I read. She was hot, by the way."

Astrid grinned, shaking her head, "Anyways. When I read about T.T.-"

"'Time Traveler', correct?" Peter attempted to take a sip of her coffee, but desisted immediately when it touched his tongue, and he grimaced flatly.

"Yeah. I…" Astrid shook her head with another smile, "I see Walter."

Peter blinked, "Walter?"

"Yeah. Is that weird?"

"Well, he did force you into reading the damn thing. And he has invented a time machine, so no, I don't think so. I only feel sorry for you- you have to deal with him out here in the real world, and now he's invaded your brain." Peter gave up on trying to mooch her coffee, "What does it take to do that, anyways?"

Astrid paused from retrieving her coffee from across the table, "What?"

"What does it take, to invade your brain? The man's got you reading moth-eaten scientific propaganda on your off time. Why can't _I _ever get girls to do that?" Peter grinned.

Astrid smiled, blushing slightly, "'Got any moth-eaten scientific propaganda on you?" she questioned.

Peter sat back, crossing his arms behind his head and stretching, "Alas, no. I don't much like moldy things. But what I _have _got is an invitation to dinner on Friday. 'You up for it?"

Astrid laughed quietly, "What? You're not being chained to a bedpost being force-fed Martian bedtime stories?"

"Nope, it's Walter's turn to wear the shackles. I'll pick you up at your place, around nine?"

"Where are we going?"

Peter winked and took a last drink of her coffee, "That's a surprise."

xXx

Walter was humming the cello bridge of 'Danse Macabre' softly as he was searching the undergrowth for his borrowed book. He'd been tracking the thing all day, retracing all the steps he'd made the previous day, and at last he'd managed to remember that he's had his lunch _here_, while excavating for earthworms. Not to eat simultaneously, of course (he preferred millipedes), but a large jar of earth and grayish-pink, wiggling creatures had informed him that he had succeeded, in his unremembered objective.

"Walter, can we go?" Astrid's complaint came distantly.

He tensed, "No! Don't come up here!" he called back quickly, his search growing more feverish. He couldn't let her know that he'd lost the book even before he'd gotten a chance to read it…

How could he possibly face her unknowing of what a 'Diskworld' was?!

"Walter, your ice cream is melting!"

"Ten more seconds!" he dropped to his knees, sweeping aside fallen leaves as his fingers scrambled through twigs and disturbed earth.

Walter stopped, swallowing. He knew where the book was. If he could make it to the car, he could shake the worms from the pages before much damage was done…

There was the snapping of twigs and the gentle rush of brush against clothing, "You're not doing something weird again, are you? We have more than enough worms, Walter…" Astrid paused behind him, "What are you doing?"

Walter turned, his face ashen, "I don't feel well," he said. It had started as a lie, but sight of her face falling with worry made an honest man of him, the sickening feeling of guilt settling in his stomach.

"Too much ice cream?" Astrid asked gently, stooping to place a hand on his shoulder, "It is kind of hot out."

Walter shook his head, swallowing. He got to his feet, brushing the earth from his clothes, "Let's go."

"Walter, if you're not feeling well, we can stay here a little longer," Astrid said, "I don't want to subject you a car ride if you're going to be sick…"

"I'm an idiot!" Walter exclaimed at last, raising his hands to pull at his hair, his guilt gaining the better of him, "Here you are being such a dear, and I've gone and ruined your book!"

Astrid looked confused, "What book?"

"The book you loaned me! I got carried away finding a proper fueling agent for the worms to feed on and decompose, and… and I fed them your book!" Walter hung his head with shame, "Was it terribly important to you? I've ruined everything, haven't I?"

Astrid snorted, and clasped her hands over her mouth to stifle a laugh, and Walter looked up at her, tilting his head slightly with bewilderment, "That's what you've been running yourself to a frazzle about all day? My book? Walter, I bought it used at a garage sale. It's a good book, but I'm not going to hang you for making a mistake."

"So… you're not upset with me?" Walter questioned hopefully.

"Walter," Astrid stepped forward, and Walter's eyes widened with shock as she threw her arms around him in a hug, "of all the people to freak over something so trivial, I'd never expected it to be you."

"It-it's not trivial," Walter insisted, red around the ears as she stepped away, leading the way out of the undergrowth and onto the trimmed lawn of the park, "you loaned it to me. It's important."

Astrid chuckled, shaking her head, "It's okay, really. Let's go feed the pigeons, I know you like them," Walter paused as she strode ahead, and she stopped, turning with a raised brow, "'You alright? You're not still sick, are you?"

Walter stared at her a few moments, his jaw working silently with his thoughts.

He liked her a lot.

"I'm sorry I ruined your book," Walter said, wordlessly hoping he could get another hug.

Astrid smiled, setting her hands on her hips, "_Stop_ beating yourself up about it."

"Okay," he caught up to her, and offered his arm, flushing happily as she took it, the though occurring to him that even while his son abhorred physical contact with him, he wasn't terribly repulsive.

"Walter, what are you doing on Friday night?" Astrid asked as they strode along, and Walter's brows rose in surprise.

"Peter has asked that I don't leave the hotel room. Why?"

"Won't that be boring?" Astrid questioned.

"No. Well, actually, yes. But I don't mind, I'll probably just sleep," Walter said, shifting her grip in the crook of his arm. The thought briefly occurred to him that he might have even attempted to hold her hand, and he grew slightly giddy with shyness, and dared not try it. He'd never claimed to be a brave man.

"Okay. I just wanted to be sure that you'd be alright while we were out," Astrid said with a smile.

His brief seconds of frozen shock were not noticeable to her, and he quickly hid them with an empty echo of her smile, "I see."

xXx


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter five.

"Walter," Peter said, looking down at his watch, "It's time to go." He looked back up at his computer screen to save the document he'd been typing on, and shut it down, "Do you hear me?"

Peter looked up to find the laboratory vacated. He paused, listening. There was the high, sharp sound of a drill, and Peter got to his feet, pursuing the noise down the steps to push aside the sliding Plexiglas door of the operating theater, "Walter?"

Walter looked up from his straddled position on the abdomen of the cadaver, drill in hand as he pushed his goggles onto his forehead, "Pardon?"

Peter looked slightly repulsed, "Good god, Walter, you're _filthy_."

Walter looked down at the dark spatters and splotches on his clothes and lab coat, "Oh. Sorry. Cerebral boring takes a bit of elbow grease, and you've got to get just the right leverage… I must have gotten carried away, and forgotten an operating gown…"

"Get down from there," Peter sighed, "Throw the coat and your shirt in the cart. The cleaners should be in this afternoon, you'll get your shirt back Monday."

"But… that will leave me in just my undershirt," Walter said, seeming a little nervous at the prospect.

"We've all seen you in far less than an undershirt, come on," Peter looked down at his watch as his father climbed from the gurney, stripping away his bloodstained gloves after folding the linen sheet over the corpse's head.

"Why do you keep checking your timepiece? Are you timing me?" Walter asked, then brightened at the idea, "Time me!" and set to stripping of his lab coat and shirt in a flurry of movement and minor struggling.

"No, Walter, I'm not timing you. I've just got to get back to the hotel and shower and change…" Peter smirked, "not all of us can wear sanguine as well as you."

Walter frowned, tugging at his inside-out sleeves, which had become stuck on his wrists as he hadn't taken the time to unbutton the cuffs, "Oh, right. Your date."

Peter paused, "Who said anything about a date?" he questioned, "I didn't say anything."

Walter fixed him with a glare, "I'm crazy, not a moron," he managed at last to pull his arms free, "I really don't know why you keep treating me like one." He wrapped the blood spattered articles together and mimicked a distance shot into the deep linen cart. The wad of clothing flew in an arch and bounced off the rim, rattling into the cart, "Boo-yah!" Walter exclaimed.

"I didn't say you were a moron, just as I didn't say anything about a date," Peter said, pursuing Walter across the lab as he set to gathering his things and stuffing his arms into the sleeves of his jacket, "define your sources, Walter."

Walter turned to his son, looking agitated, "Why should I?" he said acidly.

"Don't snap at me," Peter warned, "I just asked you a question."

"Don't interrogate me," Walter replied, "and I deign not to answer, thanks very much."

They glared at each other in seething agitation for a few moments.

And all at once, the yelling started.

"There's just no way to win with you, is there?!" Peter demanded.

"The rules are quite easy, really; _don't treat me as a simpleton_!" Walter barked.

"That's a bit hard to do when you throw tantrums like a five-year-old!"

"I'd say that your method of comprehension is rather lacking!"

"You haven't changed at all! Mom always hated the way you condescended to everyone!"

"That's just as well, because you're just like she was!"

"Don't you dare talk about her like that, Walter!"

"Or what?! That woman put me through _hell_!"

"_You_?! What about _us_?! The people you left behind to clean up your _mess_?!" Peter pushed a collage of surgical implements off the counter to crash onto the floor, "Did you stop for ten second to imagine the hell you created?!"

"It wouldn't have been hell if someone had even _attempted _to understand!" Walter retorted, "But no, they were far too busy shipping me off in the patty wagon to try comprehension, for a change!"

"Oh, because we all know that you're so tragically _misunderstood_," Peter sneered, and Walter snatched up his things, turning on his heel to storm out of the lab, "what, you're running away from me, now?! Well, fine! I'm done with you, Walter! Go get someone else to understand, I don't give a damn!"

Walter slammed the lab door, the boom resonating in the empty recesses of the basement. Peter hissed a curse, stooping to collect the instruments from the floor, the back of his neck hot with the confrontation. He exclaimed as he sliced his palm deeply and painfully with a scalpel, and doffed the tray onto the counter to go off in search of a bandage.

xXx

Mr. Pibb? Who named these things, anyways? Ah, what the hell, it had sugar, and, really, that was all he was after. Walter yanked open the glass door of the tall freezer display and reached up to pull out a two-liter bottle of the dark, cold, cola-esk drink, examining the label; oh, so it had cherry in it. He only hoped it went with strawberry ice cream and Snickers.

Walter briefly debated jelly beans, and decided to indulge himself, on the way to the counter.

Peter had really steamed him. The boy was right, mostly. He'd only wished that Peter had tried to understand him, just as he wished that he himself could be more understandable in the first place… he wondered if what he wanted was unreasonable, at this point. That was very possibly the case. Couldn't Peter just take a page or two from that lovely young woman that they worked with?

Ah, but he _was_. They were going on a date, weren't they?

How annoying.

Walter stood beside another man at the counter, watching the muted baseball game on the screen over the essentials display behind the register. He fingered his son's charge card in the pocket of his coat and bitterly though of abstract, angry things. He was only brought out of his fuming subconscious daze then the man beside him drew out a side arm, stepping back to point it at the cashier and demand the till.

Okay, that was it. Walter would be inconvenienced no more. By his son, his apparent crush, or the thief.

"Do you _mind_?!" Walter demanded suddenly, and both the cashier and the robber appeared taken aback, "I am _trying_ to make a purchase!"

The robber blinked, getting his bearings, and his voice faltered slightly as he demanded, "Sh-shut up, old man!"

"I've had a bad day, and if you insist on getting between me and my mindless, unhealthy consumption of sweets, _I will break you_," Walter hissed, "have you no consideration?!"

The thief dropped the gun slightly, seeming at a loss, "…sorry."

"Give him the till," Walter spat at the cashier, who flinched away.

"S-sir-"

"_Now_! I'm not getting any younger!" Walter said, and the cashier obliged, shakily stuffing the small bills into a grocery bag and jamming it into the thief's outstretched hand. The robber only looked back and fourth from Walter to the clerk, and fled the store. Walter piled his articles onto the counter with a sigh, "And they say I'm crazy. The rest of the world is crazy. Crazy _rude_."

xXx


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter six.

There was a knocking, and Astrid looked up from the television program and got up, her socked feet shuffling across the carpet as she tried to avoid Mittens, who wound about her ankles meowing excitedly. She stood on her tip-toes to look through the peephole to the hallway, not knowing just who to expect. Her eyes widened, and she removed the night chain, opening the door

"Peter," she said, surprised, and she looked back, over her shoulder at her wall clock, "I didn't think it was nine, I'm a mess…"

"It isn't," Peter replied with a sigh, his look tired and patience spent, "I'm sorry, Astrid, but have you seen Walter around? We kind of had another fight, and I can't find him, I've searched everywhere…"

Astrid frowned with concern, "Another fight? Come in," she moved aside, allowing him to enter, and she shut and locked the door behind him. She caught his hand in hers as he started for the couch, "What happened to your hand?!" she demanded.

"I just cut it, it's nothing. Listen, I don't want to get anyone in trouble, but I seriously can't find him," Peter said, his voice slightly lean with exasperation, "I've checked his normals- the aquariums, the greenhouse, the park, to roof- nothing. You're around him a lot, Astrid- do you know anywhere else he could be?"

"You should really have this looked at, Peter," Astrid said seriously, "It won't stop bleeding, and I don't know if they do stitches on the palm…"

"I said it was nothing. I don't have time. I have to find Walter. You know how it is, Astrid, he could have wandered himself into trouble again, I shouldn't have yelled at him-"

Astrid laughed with a smile, "You're such a sweetheart, Peter."

Peter looked confused, "What? Well, I mean I know, but… why?"

"Walter went to the drugstore just down from your hotel. He goes there to buy sweets when he's upset," Astrid said. She stopped him as he was headed for the door, "Leave him be Peter. He made me promise not to tell you, okay? He should head up to the hotel and submerge himself in self-pity and sugar in a bit, don't worry."

"You're sure?" Peter questioned uneasily.

"Positive. He's just blowing off steam, you don't need to go frantic looking for him. Now, let me see what I can do about that nastiness on your hand, shall I?" Astrid sat him down on the sofa and went for the hydrogen peroxide and superglue.

"He's an asshole sometimes, you know," Peter said, unwinding the blood-stained bandaging from his hand with gritted teeth.

"I know," Astrid replied, pulling out a bow of butterfly-stitch bandages from the kitchen drawer.

"Well, I mean, you _do_ know. You're probably the _only_ one that knows, besides me," Peter muttered, flexing his laceration and grimacing, "I just don't get him, sometimes. I don't know what I do to set him off- I'm walking on eggshells all the time."

She was pulling on a pair of latex gloves, "Stop playing with it," Astrid reprimanded gently, sitting to take his hand carefully, "There's really not much difference between you two, you know."

"Take that back right now," Peter joked. He winced as Astrid poured stinging peroxide across his palm.

"I'm serious. All of are the same, in some respects- we just want to be _understood_," Astrid swabbed away the stale-smelling foam from his wound with a sterile cotton swab, "Walter isn't any different."

Peter was quiet.

Astrid carefully pinched the cut together, gently bonding the skin with itself using tiny beads of superglue. She reinforced them with the butterfly bandages, "Listen Peter. After all of this, it's okay if you want to call a rain check on dinner-"

"_Hell no_. I mean, the old man can't take all my fun," he said with a smile, "Besides, I've only _just _come up with a brilliant plan. I'll be here at nine."

xXx

Walter didn't look at anyone on his way to the elevator, and entered alone, pressing his floor button and standing in silence as the double doors slid shut. At last he sighed, shifting the heavy grocery bags in his hands. He glanced up at the square, digital clock above the door, reading; 8:54. Oh, good. Peter would have time to spruce himself up, if he kept the verbal bashing to a minimum.

There was a soft chiming that he had somehow unconsciously come to dislike, and unexplainably fear, and the door slid open to reveal the carpeting and wall paneling of his floor. Walter stepped out, lugging his sugary prizes with him. He reached the door of the room and juggled his burden to pull out his key card, swiping it through the reader. The tiny light above it flashed red, and emitted a negative beeping. Walter frowned and tried the card again, with identical results. He looked around, wondering if he had the wrong room again.

After a bit of distance traveling, he had tried every door on the floor to no avail. It suddenly, and very bitterly, occurred to him that his card had been deactivated.

"Hey mister, are you lost?" someone asked cheerfully, and Walter looked over his shoulder, seeing Peter smiling at him, "hey."

"What's the meaning of this?" Walter asked darkly.

"I'm understanding you, Walter," Peter said, holding up an envelope, "I got you your own room."

Walter did not respond, his feelings a mixture of excitement, anger, and hurt.

"Now, I still have to keep an eye on you, so it's just right across the hall," Peter strode up, taking to spent key card and opening the envelope to pull out a new one, "But you don't care as long as it's your own space, right?" he smiled again, opening the door opposite the hall and letting it swing open, "Tah-dah. Go ahead, check it out," he tucked the envelope of two cards into Walter's coat pocket, patting him on the shoulder, "Don't stay up too late. I'll check on you when I get back, okay?" And Peter strode off down the hall, the faint smell of a pleasant cologne tracing him.

Walter entered the foreign room, shutting the door and dropping the bags into the small sink of the kitchenette. He pushed off his shoes and shuffled to the bed, sitting down to cry a bit.

xXx


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter seven.

"And you promise you won't think it's lame?" Peter questioned uneasily, his fingers still gently pressed over her flickering eyelids.

Astrid laughed, "Peter, everything you _do_ is lame," she joked, "now come on, just let me see the place, will you?"

Peter let out a sigh, and removed his hands with a smirk, "Okay. But if you laugh…"

Astrid gazed around in bewilderment, a small, confused smile touching her lips, "peter, where are we?"

"Alright, now just bare with me," Peter said, taking her hand and leading her off the cobblestone park path, into the woods. A faint rush of running water was distant, and he followed it as his guide, "I knew this girl-"

"Not the best way to start this, Peter," Astrid warned.

"No, not like that. I was in grad school- well, the equivalent, I was writing a bunch of thesis papers for these rich med students for some extra cash- but anyways, they were letting me crash in the dormitory until I could find my own place. Watch your step," Peter warned as he steadied her on the steep incline.

"You were a dorm pet? You're kidding me?" Astrid said as she stepped down with Peter to more stable ground.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Anyways, while I was staying there I got to know the horticulture instructor. I snuck in on some of the classes when I wasn't doing anything, but horticulture class was outdoors, so it wasn't boring as hell, like everything else. Well, she and I talked a lot, and she showed me this crazy place…" he jumped down from another ledge to land on a flat wash near the running creek, and he reached up to grip Astrid by the waist, giving her a soft grunt as he gently lowered her beside him.

Astrid looked around, her eyes widening, "Oh my god…" she breathed.

Orchids clustered the sides of the steam, purple and white in the glint of the fading twilight. Peter scratched the back of his neck in slight nervousness, "Yeah. She said they didn't normally grow in these conditions, she was studying them to name a new strand. I don't know if she ever did… but I've never showed anybody else, she made me promise."

"Did she have a crush on you or something?" Astrid questioned, stooping to touch a frilly petal.

"She might have," Peter said, "it wouldn't be the first time."

"You're pretty full of yourself, aren't you?" Astrid laughed, looking up at him.

"Says _you_," Peter responded with a grin, "I'm not the only one to steal hearts and minds, you know."

Astrid looked puzzled, "What do you mean?"

"Come on," Peter said, holding out a hand to her, "We'll be late. I made reservations at Antonio's."

xXx

Walter would never come to know the details of the outing his son and his assistant had had, nor the manner of payment Peter had devised for such an occasion, as it was only after a short time after his son had left that Walter had discovered himself still in the possession of his wallet and charge card. It was midnight when Walter entered his son's hotel room noiselessly, and shifted the large glass jar in his arms as he quietly kicked the door shut with the heel of his foot. His steps were muted by his thick wool socks as he moved across the room in the dark.

He leaned across the bed touch Peter's shoulder, "Peter-" Peter gave a grunt as a static discharge left Walter's fingers flick his skin painfully, "Oh! I'm sorry!"

Peter lifted his face from the pillow, "What do you _want_, Walter?!"

Walter sat on the side of the bed, the jar sloshing quietly in his lap as he beamed, terribly excited, "Midnight pickles!" he announced.

"What?" Peter questioned flatly, pushing himself to a sitting position and rubbing his eyes with his fingertips.

"I'm sorry for the way I acted today, Peter," Walter said, unscrewing the tin lid and extracting a fork from the breast pocket of his pajamas, "And… I'm grateful that you… well…" Walter fished out a dill pickle, holding out to his son, "I'm sorry."

Peter blinked at the peace offering for a few moments, and at last took the conserve from the end of the fork, "It's okay, Walter. I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have said some of the stuff I did."

Walter smiled, and fished out a pickle of his own. They munched in silence for a short while. Peter suddenly exclaimed as a bit of the vinegar reached the wound on his hand, and Walter dried his fingers on the front of his thin trousers and took his son's injured appendage to examine it without comment, "Scalpel incision," he diagnosed at last.

Peter looked mildly impressed, "What makes you say that?"

Walter shrugged obligingly and pushed his sleeve up his forearm to show a thin scar that crossed the back of his hand and up his wrist, "I'm not without my own. They hit deep- you may need stitches."

"Do they do stitches, on the palm?" Peter questioned

"Absolutely. If the bleeding gets worse, I'll sew you up. There was this one time, I split my scalp open vaulting a swivel chair- I didn't know it swiveled, at the time- the scar is-"

"Walter, let's not get into weird scar show and tell, please," Peter said, holding up a hand to silence him, and Walter smiled apologetically.

"Some other time, then." They were silent again as Peter retrieved a second pickle, and Walter watched him for a bit, before Peter returned his stare, forcing him to drop his gaze to the jar before him, "Sorry."

"You know what you said, about mom?" Peter asked quietly.

"Yes. I'm sorry about that, too."

"I'm not like mom, Walter. I'm worse than that. I think I'm more like you."

Walter looked up at him, his feelings once more a mixture of horrible pain and bursting joy, "Oh, don't say that, Peter," he whispered

"I know," Peter smirked down at his half-finished dill, "it sucks, right?"

Walter took his son's face in his hands and leaned forward to kiss his forehead, "Never say that," he insisted, peering into his features. Peter only stared with alarm and slight confusion, until Walter released him.

Peter raised a hand to wipe away the moisture on his forehead as Walter stood, the pickle jar sloshing, "I'm going to my room, son. Goodnight."

"I thought you wanted to sleep in here," Peter joked, still unknowing of what to make of his father's actions.

Walter smiled, "That was the original plan, but you look too comfortable to disturb with my taking of space. I'll leave these here, son," Walter said, setting the pickle jar on the counter, "With, um, your wallet…"

"Yes, I'm still pissed about that," Peter frowned, and Walter hung his head.

"Sorry. Goodnight, boy." Walter said, and headed for the door.

"How'd you even get _in _here?" Peter called after him in sudden realization, but he received no answer.

Walter dreamt of a place where he wore a case around his head much like that of a bronze diving helmet, and it had somehow _become _his head, and his mind, and he could not remove it. Peter had grey eyes and no stubble, and hated him. The dream ended with weeping and the realization of his own end -the usual-, but soon it all faded, his thoughts finding another place where it was warm and smelled like mandarin oranges.

xXx


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter eight

He'd really only awakened when he had sneezed. After a long, embarrassing look at his own, drooly disposition in the mirror, he had spent the next half-hour cleaning up the toothpaste and spit, and searching for his jettisoned toothbrush. Just another messy point in the plotline that comprised the story of his day.

"Walter, did you sneeze?" Peter asked, poking his head in the door.

"Uh-huh," Walter replied, stooping to look under the sink.

"Oh. Well, bless you," Peter said. There was a pause, and Walter began to wonder when his son would get to the point, "Hey, listen… have you seen my razor?"

Walter froze in his efforts of searching the empty bathtub, his eyes rounding with shock, "No, son," he replied dazedly, "I haven't."

"Oh. Well, thanks anyways," and Peter disappeared.

Walter sat in the bathtub, wiping toothpaste from his lip with his sleeve and frowning, "I see that this is getting more serious than I had previously anticipated," he grumbled to himself thoughtfully, "hmm."

xXx

"So… are you two on a speaking basis, or what?" Astrid asked.

Walter looked up at Peter, across the cadaver, "What is she on about?"

"Beats me," Peter replied with a shrug, "Come on, Walter, I can't hold the chest cavity open forever."

"Ah, yes, sorry," Walter blinked his gaze away from Astrid as she passed, returning his attention back to the task at hand. He bit the pen light in his teeth and moved aside the obstacle of the heart to peer inside the corpse. He froze for a second, his brows knitting with confusion, "Peter, do I have a watch?" he asked.

"No," Peter answered, bewildered, "I thought you just had your pocket watch…" he frowned as Walter checked his own wrist, then his sons', "Walter, what is it?"

"Well, the damnedest thing…" Walter murmured, and Astrid approached the gurney, peering over his shoulder curiously. He used a pair of forceps to reach into the body, tugging out what appeared to be a wrist watch.

"That is so disgusting," Astrid said, looking sick

Walter washed the timepiece in a basin of alcohol nearby, and Peter stared in amazement, "I'll be damned, I think it's still _ticking_…"

"And someone forgot to set it forward. Finders keepers," Walter smiled, and tried it on, "Well, I'll be- it fits."

"Walter, you're not keeping it," Peter said, as Astrid looked repulsed.

"Why not?" Walter asked innocently.

Peter shook his head, "I'm trying to talk sense with a guy who steals snack foods from a car accident…"

"That was a damn fine burrito!" Walter said defensively.

"You'll eat anything, we've established this," Peter smiled at Astrid, who laughed.

"And that milk was just fine! It was only a week after the expiration! Waste not want not, boy!"

"Do you hear yourself? _Expiration_, Walter, they call it an _expiration _for a reason."

"I'm keeping it," Walter huffed, polishing the glass face with his thumb, "go on and let loose of the opening, boy, I don't have much use for it." Walter stripped off his latex gloves as Peter released the cadaver. The body gave a soft sigh, and Peter cringed at the effect. Walter pulled off his operating gown and doffed it into the laundry cart, muttering incoherently on his way to the office.

"Astrid," Peter called softly, once his father was out of earshot, and he caught her around her wrist as she passed, "hey, what's up?"

Astrid chuckled, giving him a smile, "I had the leftovers from dinner this morning," she said.

"Really?" Peter grinned, "and how were they?"

"Better than last night," she replied.

"I'm not surprised. I like Italian better cold anyways," Peter released her and had a seat beside her at the computer desk, "I envy you. Walter pilfered mine."

"Are we really talking about leftovers?" Astrid questioned incredulously, arching a brow.

"I don't know," Peter murmured, "I assumed you were using them as a metaphor."

Astrid paused, "…Walter ate your metaphor?"

"What? No! I mean, that's not what I meant," Peter stammered, and he reddened slightly as Astrid was laughing.

"Listen, Peter. I've got work to do, and so do you. Let's get on it, or we'll both get fired."

"Can this _really _be considered a job…?" Peter was mumbling as he rose and shuffled off, " and I think I'd pay to get fired, at this point…" Astrid shook her head, and set to work at her computer.

Watching from his undetected place in the office doorway, Walter frowned, and decided that it was time to set his own objectives in motion.

xXx


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter nine.

It was abundantly apparent that they were both ready to get the hell out of there. Unfortunately, it was often at these times of staring up at the clock hopelessly that Walter would suddenly catch wind of inspiration, and Astrid would have to forcefully stop him, in his exploits, before the clock struck midnight.

This time was no different, and Astrid had to shade her eyes as the restless doctor was using a cutting torch on something, the air in the shallow, steel tank bright with brilliant sparks bouncing off his thick face shield and across the cold, iron floor that he crouched on, "Walter!" she called over the high-pitched whine of metal melting away from itself, "Walter!"

He paused in his work, then continued, thinking her calls a figment of his imagination.

Astrid sighed, knowing the actions to take. Her steps took her across the lab floor to her desk, and she stooped to pull open the drawer nearest to the floor, delving inside. She withdrew a cherry tootsie pop from a large bag of assorted candy, tucking it into her pocket and rising to kick the drawer shut. She returned to the tank where Walter was diligently working away.

Glancing around, Astrid hefted a wrench, bringing it down on the outside of the tank with a loud, gong-like sound. Walter looked up sharply, and Astrid smiled, waving and motioning for him to come out. Obligingly, Walter capped off the torch, pushing his mask up on his forehead and rising to stick his head out of the door.

Astrid smiled brightly, holding up the candy, and Walter exclaimed with delight, taking the candy from her to rip away the paper and jam it into his mouth. Astrid frowned as he disappeared into the tank once more.

"Walter, it's time to close up," Astrid said, sticking her head inside, "what are you doing in here, anyways?"

Walter nodded, sitting back to pull the pop from his mouth and sigh, "The damn thing's full of holes. Saline rusts like hell- salt and corrosion…cousins, chemically."

"So you're patching it up?"

"No. I'm not versed well enough in the technique of welding. I'm cutting away the access. Peter says he'll do the welding tomorrow, if I get all of this done," he motioned around at the strange, reverse patchwork of missing metal squares, "I'm almost done-" he began to insist.

"Walter, no!" Astrid laughed, "You do this every time! We'll get out of here around one in the morning again!"

"But if I don't get this done tonight, Peter will put it off all day tomorrow!" Walter whined, "I've even got the scrap cut out!"

"No. Out," Astrid frowned firmly, jamming her thumb over her shoulder.

Walter began to inch for his torch.

"No! Walter, don't you dare!" Astrid warned, "I swear to god…"

His hand closed around the cutter, and he reached for the valve adjuster on the gas tank, set to ignore her commands.

"That's it!" Astrid said, diving into the tank after him. Her fingers closed around his collar, and his mask slipped from his head as he attempted to evade her, and she was laughing as she began to attempt to pull him out, "Out, damn it!"

"Unhand me, Amazonian shrew!" Walter exclaimed as he tried to pull from her grip. Astrid pulled him back in, and he pushed away again as a button on his popped loose, rattling on the iron floor. Quite suddenly Astrid was pulled off balance, stumbling into an abrupt, off-center kiss. For brief seconds, Walter's thumb strayed over her elbow gently.

They were staring at one another when said event ended.

"Ten more minutes," he said at last.

"God damn it, Walter!" Astrid snapped, flushing hotly, "way to kill it, you creep!" she pushed herself out of the tank, fuming as she stormed away.

"What? Kill what?" Walter questioned, scrambling out of the tank after her, "Wait- there was _something_?!"

"Finish your stupid project!" she snapped, moving to throw her things into her bag, "I'm not staying here all night again!" She recoiled slightly as Walter was suddenly before, his hand pinning her luggage to the desktop.

"Wouldn't that depend entirely on the method in which night was spent?" he questioned with a quiet smirk, arching a brow.

"Don't you have welding to do?!" Astrid stammered, glaring at a place on the wall behind him.

"It somehow lacks anything substantially entertaining to retain my attention, at the moment. But the tank certainly would get interesting again, were you to keep me company in it-" He exclaimed as Astrid pulled her bag from him, causing him to stumble slightly. Astrid was suddenly reminded of the uncharacteristic, clumsy charm that the father and son seemed to share.

"Walter…"

"Hello, am I interrupting something?" someone asked, and Astrid turned on her heel.

"Peter!" She exclaimed, her eyes swapping from him to his quiet, smirking father in what felt like panic.

"Hello, son," Walter murmured pleasantly, straitening from his leaned position against the desk for support, "I'll just be getting my things, if that's alright…" he sauntered off with a short sigh.

Peter frowned with confusion, his hands in his pockets, "did I miss something?" he questioned, turning his sights on Astrid.

"No, no, nothing," she replied with a short smile, uncertain just what to make of the situation. She wiped her lips, as if the kiss was still where Peter could see.

xXx

Peter somehow found himself affected by his father's good mood, echoing his small, secretive smile, "What's got you in such a good mood?" he questioned at last , breaking Walter from his absent gazing out the car window.

Walter measured his response carefully, "…Nothing," he replied, clearly grounding the conversation at its root.

Knowing his game, Peter pressed on, "No, seriously, what is it? You've been cheery since we left the lab. What's up?"

"Do you think apples shine better on denim or flannel?" Walter questioned, smiling out of the car window once more.

"Don't pull that, I'm getting better at telling when you're faking ADD. You were quiet when we left the lab yesterday, and you're cheery today…which can only lead me to conclude that something positive has occurred to change your mood."

Walter sighed, "You're so brilliant, Peter, it's a wonder you didn't do more with yourself…"

Peter frowned, "Hey, don't make me pop your bubble, old man. We're not all on cloud nine, here. Did you make any breakthroughs, today? Is that it?"

"No," Walter shrugged one shoulder, "I washed the tank, brushed Gene. Nothing more, really. Oh- well, accept that other thing. But it's nothing."

"_What_ other thing? The little things turn out to be the disasters, Walter."

Walter grinned, "Oh, I have no doubt this one will."

xXx


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten.

A small but persistent humming interrupted his crossword puzzle, and Peter looked up from the newspaper, blinking a few moments. He reached out from his sprawled position on the bed, scooping up the cell phone and taking a glance at the caller ID. A small, confident smile touched his face, "Hey, Walter, turn that down," he said as he slid the face of the phone upward, holding it to his ear.

Walter, pajama-clad and spending little to no time in his own room, cursed softly as he missed a note on the guitar-shaped controller in his lap, "I'm busy!" he exclaimed in exasperation as he tried to keep up with a fresh wave of scales.

Frowning, Peter leaned forward to grab up the remote, turning down the volume of the Hendrix song, "Hey, Astrid, what's up?" he asked.

"Hey, Peter," she said, her voice still hard to hear from the game, and Peter turned up the volume of the speaker.

"I was just thinking of calling you. I was wondering-"

"Um, Peter, I was… I was wondering if maybe I could talk to Walter," Astrid said.

Peter paused, his eyebrows dipping momentarily, "Is something wrong?"

"No. I just need to talk to him. Is he there?"

Peter looked up at his father, hurriedly clicking away, "Yeah, he's here. Mostly. Sure, I'll get him for you…" Peter lifted the phone away from his ear, pressing a palm over the mic, "Walter!" He called, "Walter, do you want to talk to Astrid?"

"Who?" Walter questioned, his eyes intent on the screen.

"Astrid. From the lab."

Walter chewed his cheek in contemplation, "The cute girl? With the face?" he questioned at last, holding down a chord.

Peter chuckled, "Yeah."

Walter dropped the controller onto the carpet, grabbing up the remote to mute the television, "Give me the phone," he said, holding out his hand, and Peter handed it to him. Walter was about to answer, when he paused, looking up at his son, "Stings a little, dunnit?"

"Shut up," Peter frowned.

"Walter Bishop speaking," Walter said into the phone, rising to head for a little privacy in the bathroom, "Yes, hello. Peter is my son. With the beard. I don't have a beard. I used to- what was that? Yes. No. Maybe. Sometimes. Uh-huh…" his comments were disrupted as he shut the door.

Peter looked up at the SONG FAILED bold print on the television screen, thoughtful. Astrid had sounded slightly distressed, and he wondered if it had anything to do with his father. If that were the case…

Peter got off the bed to gather the controller off the floor, Walter's responses muffled through the wall. Peter wound the chord in his fingers absently, his thoughts suddenly straying to the absurd- nothing had happened between them, had it?

Was he jealous?

Peter suddenly shook his head, letting out a laugh. He was getting upset over something that simply couldn't happen. Freaking out over hypothetical situations- he had always been good at being paranoid. He pressed down on the green fret, electing to try the song himself.

xXx

"Walter, quit singing into the phone!" Astrid snapped, agitated.

"The acoustics in the bathroom are quite good," He replied apologetically, his voice distant and hazy through her cell phone speaker. She had to plug her unoccupied ear with her finger to hear him over the chatter of passersby.

"Yes, great, grand," Astrid sighed, "Walter, I needed to talk to you about what happened in the lab yesterday. We can't have something like this hanging over us, you know."

Miles away and several stories higher, Walter had taken to observing just how strange his pinky toe looked, seated on the edge of the bathtub, "Oh, yes, certainly," he answered understandingly.

Astrid frowned, glaring as a taxi cab passed, horn blaring for what appeared to be no reason, "Do you even know what I'm talking about, Walter?" she questioned flatly.

"Nope," Walter replied in sing-song, pulling his leg up to his chest to get a better look at his foot.

Astrid sighed, "I figured as much. Walter, what happened in the lab… it was just an accident, okay? When you remember, you'll understand… but you can even think of it as a joke, if you want," Astrid smiled into the phone uneasily, "a funny anecdote _not to tell Peter._"

"Now see here, miss," Walter said, frowning as he released his foot and let it drop to the tiled floor, "I'd say it's slightly offensive for you to pass off my more clever of attempts at recognition like this."

"You remember?"

"And a bit uncharacteristically bruising to my feelings, might I add. Not everything I do is for instant, irrelevant gratification. I thought that you might understand this," Walter said, rising to begin drawing circles (his favorite geometric shape) on the mirror with the soap bar, "_apparently_ I was mistaken."

"No-Walter-" Astrid said, stopping in her foot travel in the hopes that somehow it would give her something more to reply with, "Walter, I-"

Walter tasted the soap, grimaced with bitterness and spat it out, "Peter does the same thing. Everyone always does the same damn thing. I'm mentally precarious, miss Annex, but that doesn't mean that I'm not completely capable of having feelings and interests, just like everyone else. Do I seem a separate species? Am I so foreign, in my objectives?"

"Walter, I didn't mean that-" Astrid stammered, shamefaced.

"Am I being a pity case, or simply an inconvenience?!" Walter snapped, and slammed the phone shut. He sighed, massaging his temples, immediately regretting his words, "You stupid, stupid old fool," he muttered, slouching against the door.

Elsewhere, Astrid lifted the phone away from her ear, blinking at it for a few moments in shock, "Walter…?" At length, she sighed, stowing the phone in her pocket and hunching her shoulders miserably. How in the hell had things gotten so ridiculously out-of-hand in the span of only a few days?

She kicked at a leaf with a frustrated curse.

Walter thudded his forehead on the wall with a tired groan.

Peter exclaimed with surprise at his game, trying to ignore the gnawing feel of suspicion at the back of his thoughts.

xXx


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Peter raised his knuckles to wrap on his father's hotel room door in the most manly way he could, "Walter!" he called in, "Are you ready to go?" He glanced at Astrid as they waited, her gaze lost in an awful, mass-produced deco-painting that interrupted the pattern of the wallpaper in the hall, "I can't believe we didn't think of carpooling earlier," he smiled.

"Yeah," Astrid responded distantly.

Peter looked concerned, "Astrid, you're seriously starting to worry me. Is something wrong?"

She looked at him with a wry smile, "No." and returned to staring into the print.

Peter frowned, then brightened with a smile, poking her side. Astrid let out a squeak of surprise and he laughed, pleased as she gave him the first _real_ smile of the morning, "Quit," she murmured, fixing her bangs as she blushed delicately.

Peter touched her side again, and she began to shirk away once more, before she cough his gaze. His hand moved lightly across her lower back, his breath slow and eyes even with hers.

Astrid panicked.

"Walter!" she demanded, and Peter jumped away in alarm as she hammered on the door, "Come on, we're going to be late!"

Peter blinked back to his senses with a short smile, "Walter!" he called in.

"Come in, I'm naked!" Came Walter's muffled reply in a bright tone.

Peter chuckled, sliding the extra key card through the reader and pushing open the door, "Walter, if you don't hurry, we won't be able to get breakfast- _oh dear god, he wasn't kidding_! Evasive maneuvers!" he shouldered Astrid backward out of the room, slamming the door before anything of the interior of the room could be registered, "Walter, put some clothes on, damn it!" Peter shouted, flushing slightly. He returned his attention to Astrid, "sorry. He does that."

"Yeah," Astrid chuckled. Awkward silence followed.

At last Walter emerged from his room, shutting the door behind himself as he straightened and buttoned his jacket. He froze in mid step as he spotted Astrid, "What is she doing here?" Walter demanded, glaring at Peter.

"Walter, don't be rude," Peter glared back, "Astrid's carpooling with us, okay?"

Walter looked back to Astrid with concern, "Tetany, then? Let me have a look," he grabbed Astrid's hands and she exclaimed, alarmed.

"_Carpool_, Walter, not carpopedal spasms," Peter said, rolling his eyes, "idiot."

"Oh. Well." Walter seemed reluctant to release Astrid's hands, but did at last as he moved his gaze to his feet, "Sorry. I was only concerned."

"Let's get out of nyah," Peter said cheerfully, leading the way toward the elevator, "To breakfast!"

Walter and Astrid fell into step side by side behind Peter, saying nothing and watching their own sides of the hallway pass, "Shotgun," Walter murmured at last.

"Nope," Peter replied, "You're sitting in the back. Astrid's our guest."

They had breakfast at a corner diner beside a construction site that had been condemned and a bakery. Unconsciously they had chosen a booth, the father and son sitting on opposite sides. Astrid suddenly found herself standing at the table, at a loss for actions as she looked to Peter, who returned only vague question at her pause, then to Walter, who watched her over his menu with an unreadable expression, "Um…" Astrid started.

"Peter, catch!" Walter said suddenly, tossing his menu into his son's face playfully. Peter gave an exclamation and batted the menu away, and Walter disappeared under the table to emerge seconds later, climbing onto the bench seat beside his son, "Haw!" he laughed, and beamed up at Astrid, "Sit, sit! I'm starving!"

Astrid had the sudden urge to kiss him again out of sheer gratitude, and sat in his vacated seat, pulling up her own menu, "Let's see, here…"

xXx

_You're hot, then you're cold,_

_You're yes, then you're no,_

_You're in, then you're out,_

_You're up, then you're down…_

Astrid pulled the headphone from her ear as Peter tapped her shoulder, giving her an apologetic smile, "Hey, Astrid," he said, suddenly finding himself slightly nervous at her attention, "I was… I was going out, you know, for some fresh air, and I was wondering if maybe, I don't know, you wanted to go for a walk…"

"Sure-" Astrid immediately regretted her response. After what had almost happened that morning, there was no way she could deny the inevitable- it's not that she didn't _want _ to… you know… "But-I mean-"

"May I go?" Walter questioned brightly, pointing to himself as he emerged from Gene's stall, a bucket of milk in hand.

"No," Peter frowned flatly.

"Aw, common, Peter, let him come," Astrid said with a quick smile. She did not know if Walter knew that he was running defense for her, but she was more than willing to snap up the opportunity to use it to her advantage, "None of us get out of the lab as much as we should, it'll be good for us."

Peter watched her for a few moments, and she swallowed, returning her eyes to her computer screen guiltily, "Fine," Peter said at last, "Get your coat, Walter. In fact, if it'd be alright, let's just you and I go, okay?"

Astrid looked up sharply, her eyes round.

Walter looked delighted, and hurried to stow the milk in one of the tall coolers against the wall and head for his coat.

"Peter-" Astrid started, when Walter was out of earshot, her voice slightly wavering in trepidation.

"No, it's okay, I get it," Peter said, his smile horribly sweet and false, "You're busy. Too busy to tell me what's going on. But Walter's never busy- I'll ask him."

"Take care, miss!" Walter said brightly as he approached, pulling on his coat, "I'm off for a walk with my _son_." he seemed ecstatic at the prospect.

Astrid hated Peter for a few moments, thinking of how he was slightly exploiting his father's desire at closeness for his own gain. Then, her hate shifted to herself.

"Let's go, Walter," Peter said cheerfully, leading the way out of the lab, "see you, Astrid," and Walter snuck her a wave as he shut the door behind himself.

Astrid cursed, throwing off her earphones onto her damn filing.

xXx


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter twelve

"Where are we going, son?" Walter asked eagerly as they mounted the stone steps to the walkway on the grounds of the university. A sudden cold spell, hinting at the upcoming fall, had forced the uncomfortable inside, and the Bishop men found themselves almost alone, save the odd student crossing their path unheedingly in a dash to get back inside.

"Walter, I need to talk to you," Peter said seriously as they walked.

"Oh? I'll be blessed with a conversation, then? Shoot, son, shoot, this is progress!" Walter looked as if the day couldn't get any better as he had to hurry to keep up with Peter's long strides.

"We're both pretty smart guys, Walter," Peter said reasonably, "I mean, excluding the fact that you're…well, you're nuts, Walter."

"Um-hmm."

"What I mean to say is that we're both smart enough to know that something is going on."

"Oh, Peter, I'm sorry. You're just not my type," Walter joked, "but that Broyles fellow- he's a tall drink of water, isn't he?"

"Walter, be serious for ten damn seconds," Peter snapped, stopping his father by the shoulder. They stood in silence on the outdoor terrace for a few moments, breath fogging slightly, "what happened between you and Astrid, yesterday?" Peter asked at last.

Walter contemplated for a few seconds, turning to begin picking at a chip of paint on a pillar, "Nothing," he replied.

"Bullshit. You can't be as pokerfaced as she is, you and I both know it-"

"No," Walter interrupted, glancing up at his son, "I can be even _worse_." he returned to picking at the paint absently.

"This isn't fair, Walter," Peter said, his hands balling into fists in his pockets, "whatever happened completely screwed everything up, and now she's avoiding me at every turn. _What did you do_?"

"Mighty protective, boy," Walter said, frowning as he pried off the chip. He examined it in his fingernail, "Do you think I hurt her, or something? Do you think I'm capable of something like that?" he flicked the debris away, onto the cement, crushing it under his shoe.

"I don't know what you're capable of, Walter, that's why I'm asking," Peter growled.

"Exactly. I don't think anyone really knows what I'm capable of, I don't even think I do," he glared up at Peter, "But that's _my _ goddamn business, isn't it?"

"Walter," Peter warned darkly, returning his glare, "If you did anything-"

"Are you thinking of getting physical, then? Peter, I'd be sooner to sever my own leg with a table knife than do you or her any harm. I know my place, and I overstepped it- I apologize. But don't think you know everything about me, or even close to enough to even remotely anticipate my methods; I'm only human. Just like you. Just like her. Just like anyone in this damn place."

"You like her, is that it?" Peter questioned, at last moving to confirm his suspicions.

"I do."

They were silent for another few minutes.

"Is it like a crush, or something?"

"Probably. I don't know."

More silence.

"She's really cute. I guess I understand."

"You have your old man's taste, son."

"Oh, shut up, you pervert."

They smiled at one another.

"So, is _she _ a tall drink of water, then? I never got that term, actually. It's pretty retro."

"No, that term is reserved for one of Agent Broyles' disposition, and sheer stature. No, I'd say she's more like…" Walter considered, "A cherry float. Perhaps."

Peter laughed, "I don't even want to think into that analogy. Come on, Walter, let's finish our walk."

"I have to warn you that it's probable that she'll turn out to be a biter. Speaking from experience," Walter said with a hint of color as they strode off, Peter with his arm around his father's shoulders.

xXx

Astrid was running a brush over Gene's soft hide in her deep thoughts when something struck the Plexiglas panel of the lab door, and she froze with dread. She hadn't had enough time to even remotely come to any sort of conclusion, in her questions, even as both of the Bishops had been gone for a good part of the afternoon.

Astrid straitened, brushing her hands on the front of her jeans and taking a deep breath.

The door burst open, Walter fleeing before it, "Base, base! I touched base!" he cried, diving for immediate cover behind a table.

"I'mm'a kill you, you bastard!" Peter bellowed, charging into the lab after him.

"Whoa!" Astrid yelled, stepping in to intercept Peter in his rampage, "Peter, just calm down! Calm down!"

"I'll be damned if I calm down! The son of a bitch hit me _in the back_! It's against the rules!" Peter tried to shift around Astrid to get to his cowering father, "Get out here and face me like a man, damn you!"

Astrid continued to block him, "Peter, it was just a kiss!" She cried hopelessly.

Peter paused, "A what?"

"A kiss! And-and it was more like an accident, actually! But not! I mean-"

Peter's brows shot up on his forehead, "Really, Walter?"

Walter nodded, peeking over the table.

Peter smiled, "Smooth bastard," he murmured.

Walter threw another acorn at him, setting Peter into another rage, "No fair! You can't keep throwing while I'm distracted, it's against the rules!"

"You can't hit me when I touch base!" Walter retorted, and they continued to delve into their pockets, hurling handfuls round, hard, brown acorns at each other, missing entirely as the seeds bounced and clattered off the lab equipment.

Astrid felt heat touch her features, "Are you two playing a game with _acorns_?!" She demanded, furious, "here I am, all set to break up a huge fight, and you dumb asses are throwing crap at each other?! Go to hell, both of you!" she stooped to grab up a few acorns, throwing them.

"I'm on base! _You're breaking the rules_!" Walter insisted, laughing as he evaded her projectiles.

"Astrid's on my team!" Peter said, delighted.

"No, she's on _my _ team! She's _my _assistant! There's just a disagreement in the ranks!"

"I'm not on either of your stupid teams, you idiots!" Astrid stormed off, slamming the door of Gene's stall behind her. She leaned back against it, grinning from ear to ear.

xXx


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter thirteen.

"Hold still, quit squirming."

"I can't help it, that thing is cold. And it's my hand that was cut- and it's better, now. So why are we doing this?"

Walter cuffed his son on the back of the head with a frown as he flinched away from the cold disk of the stethoscope he passed over his bare chest, "Tetany got me thinking that you may need a proper examination, after your boo-boo."

"Don't call it that," Peter groaned, "do I look five, to you?"

Walter smiled, draping the stethoscope around his neck as he moved to begin preparing fresh bandages, "You look like a great deal of things to me, Peter. And a healthy young man is one of them, it seems."

"Great. Can I put my pants back on, then?"

"Pants are overrated," Walter said as Peter stooped to gather his jeans, pulling them on over his boxer-briefs, "clothes in general are. Get over here, I'm not finished with you yet, boy."

"Your hands are freaking cold!" Peter exclaimed, shirking away, "It's gross!"

"How do you expect me to treat you as an adult when you act so infantile? Park it, buster." Grudgingly, Peter sat, and Walter took his hand, carefully unwinding the bandaging to uncover tight, neat stitches, "It looks like you lost one. That's good, we might be able to take these out tomorrow, if you don't go too hard on yourself." he placed as fresh pad of cotton over the wound, soothing the newly-healed, pink skin with comforting salve. He placed a bit of tape across it, and began to wind it with fresh gauze. Peter shifted again impatiently, "Ants in your pants, son?" Walter questioned, "rushed jobs are flawed job. Now, for the last time, sit _still_." The word 'still' had always reminded Walter of the bitter taste of medicine, for some reason.

"I've just got places to be, Walter," Peter said as he pulled his finished hand away, beginning to pull on his tee-shirt, then his sweater.

"Oh? Am I to hear the details of your endeavors?"

"No," Peter said, and mounted the steps to fairly flee from the lab, at the door when Walter called to him.

"Peter!"

Peter looked over his shoulder.

Walter held up a bright red lollipop with a grin.

Peter rolled his eyes, the door slamming behind him.

Walter chuckled, pulling off the wrapper of the candy and popping it into his mouth. He was humming quietly to feel the sugar buzz between his teeth when Astrid entered with a call of "Marco!"

"Polo!" Walter answered immediately. He watched as she hurriedly threw her things onto her desk, seeming in a rush.

"Hey, Walter," Astrid with a smile, fixing her bangs with one hand as she typed in her password on the computer with the other, "How are you? I'll be right back, there's some stuff in the mail I've got to get out. When this gets done downloading, will you pull up those charts I was working on, yesterday? Thanks," she hurried past him to the door.

"I love you," Walter called softly.

"Yeah, love you, too," and Astrid shut the door behind herself.

Walter chuckled to himself, pushing his hands into the pockets of his lab coat and having a half-seat on the desk, watching the door. It suddenly opened, Astrid looking puzzled as she poked her head through the gap, "Walter, did you just…?"

Walter smiled around his candy.

Astrid flushed red, "Don't do crap like that! I'm forgetting everything this morning, and I don't need you screwing with me on top of that!"

Walter raised his brows silently.

"That-that came out wrong! Just quit it, Walter!" and the door slammed again, hiding her flustered expression.

"Ah, youth," Walter murmured, lazily shuffling off to flounce down on the couch to watch cartoons with Gene and fall infuriatingly short of their expectations.

xXx

"Walter, did you get those specimens labeled?" Peter questioned, as he looked through a microscope at a culture his father had been cultivating.

"I did not," Walter replied, balancing the glass bottle of his sarsaparilla on his navel as he lazed on the couch. When he flexed his stomach, he could drink from the straw protruding from the long neck, and did so, his eyes unmoving from the advertisement for phone and cable service on the television.

Peter sighed with frustration, "Well, get off your ass and _do it_," he snapped, moving on to take measurements of the hydrogen tanks against the wall, writing them on the inventory chart Astrid had printed out that morning.

"Did you finish the tank, yet?" Walter questioned, the bottle at last empty as it rolled from his stomach and into his lap, where he caught it.

Peter paused, "Oh, damn it, I didn't. I'm sorry, Walter, I'll do it tomorrow, I swear."

Walter sat up, sighing as he set his bottle onto the low coffee table in front of the couch. He stooped to give Gene a kiss on the forehead and scratch behind her ear.

"Don't kiss the cow, it's gross," Peter said flatly.

Walter sauntered off toward the lab equipment, "Oh, dear! Gravity has gone horribly awry! Whoa!" he began to bounce, much in the same manner of a slow-motion pin-ball, off the tables and gurneys as he suddenly scooped up the plastic-capped Petri dishes, singing, "_I gotta disease, deep inside me, makes me feel uneasy, baby, I can't live without you tell me whaddam I supposed ta do about it..?"_

"Walter, knock it off! Be careful with those! If you drop them we'll all have oversized cold slugs coming out our noses!"

"_Keep your distance from me, don't pay no attention ta me, I gotta disease-_"

"And quit singing that damn song, damn it!" Peter cried as his father slowly bounced his way into the storage room, shutting the door, "Jeezy-creezy, that coot's gonna kill me," Peter sighed, running his fingers back through his hair.

"Hey, I like that song," Astrid said, jumping the last few steps as she juggled boxes of files onto the already overflowing desktop.

"Yeah, but not when Walter sings it," Peter said, stooping to help her pick up a few pages that flittered off the desktop to drift to the floor, "the man is tone deaf."

"He's been getting better," Astrid said reasonably, "that little outspurt just now wasn't terrible."

"Please don't encourage him," Peter smiled wryly, "if he thinks you even remotely enjoy something, he'll never shut his trap. Oh, I've just about filled out the inventory, there's only a few more things that I need to fill out, because Walter hasn't catalogued them yet…"

"Thanks, Peter," Astrid said, taking the clipboard from him and flouncing into her chair, "I'll get this done as soon as I can, I'm just swamped."

"If you're busy, I'll do it."

"Really?"

Peter smiled, "Sure. I've got to do something to make myself useful, don't I?"

"Thanks a million, Peter. With Olivia still being caught on that damn review, I guess I'm learning just how much I can actually do, in a day. I didn't notice it, but that woman does some tremendous work, when no one's looking." Astrid set to pulling over a box of files, rifling through them. She selected one and bit it in her teeth, continuing to search.

Peter watched her, "I've never thought of you as a secretary," he said.

Astrid paused, and looked up, "Um, thanks. I guess."

"No. I mean, the thought never crossed my mind that you were even remotely the whole meek, librarian type. You do a lot of paperwork but… I just never thought of you as a secretary."

"I spend every waking moment either staring into a computer screen or playing Igor to Dr. Frankenberry Crunch. I don't think there's much room for being meek, do you?" and Astrid returned to her filing.

"I guess you're right," Peter shrugged. He stooped forward in his seat, taking her chin in his fingertips, lifting her face to give her a kiss. Astrid was frozen in confused shock when he broke away. His contented smile was interrupted as there was a blast of icy air, the back of his head and neck coated with a thin layer of sticky, white flecks.

"Paws off my assistant, ingrate!" Walter snapped, the fire extinguisher poised for action.

"I'll kill you, you crazy old bastard!" Peter sounded, turning and rising from his chair, his hands outstretched for his father's throat.

"Try it, stitch fingers!" Walter retorted, blasting him with the extinguisher again.

"Argh!" Peter snarled, shirking away, "how about you mind your own damn business, for a change?!"

"She is my business! It's my job to keep you from putting your sticky mitts all over her! Now off!" Walter threatened with the nozzle of the extinguisher menacingly.

"You're old!"

"You're unshaven!"

The silence of their standoff was interrupted by Astrid's soft typing. She looked up as she realized that they were staring, "Oh- what? I'm sorry, did you guys say something?"

xXx


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter fourteen.

Peter was out getting coffee and Walter was asleep facedown on her desk when her blackberry buzzed. Without looking away from her work on the glowing computer screen, her held the phone to her ear, "Farnsworth."

"Agent Farnsworth. This is Broyles."

"Hello, sir, how's everything?" Astrid glanced down at the clock in the corner of her screen, registering the time with a raised brow, "Is something wrong? How's Olivia?"

"She's fine. As fine as one can be, getting raked over the coals. But she'll pull out of it- I'll see to it she gets back as soon as she can. I know the load has been hard, on you three."

"Well, not too much, sir. But truthfully… I'm getting to miss the sane company. Things have been hectic, let's just say." Astrid held the phone against her neck as she fiddled with her Bluetooth in her ear, as it didn't seem to be working properly, "Hold on just a moment, sir, I'm going to put you on speaker."

Broyles was patiently silent, "Farnsworth?" he questioned finally.

"We're good, sir."

"You read the email, correct?"

Astrid paused, "Email, sir?"

"The one regarding your transfer, agent Farnsworth."

Astrid dropped her Bluetooth to clatter on her keyboard in shock, then sobered, "N-no, sir," Astrid said, retrieving it, "I haven't."

"Oh. It should have been in your inbox," truthfully, Astrid had been to busy to even check, "I was calling to ask what you thought of it. But, as you are currently uninformed of the details, I'll call tomorrow. Take care, Farnsworth."

"Goodnight, sir," and the call ended.

Astrid stared into the computer screen unseeingly.

Transfer? To where? But, here…

Her eyes strayed to the rest of the lab, and she slowly turned in her chair, her gaze spanning the various equipment- the boxes stacked haphazardly in the corner, the white linen expanse of the gurney, the shine of surgical steel and glass, the cobwebbed skeleton against the wall, sporting a purple sombrero.

She was leaving? No, surely this was a mistake.

She turned back in her chair as Walter murmured something about butter as he snoozed, somehow seeming if he were a component of the dusty lab himself. Astrid raised her hand, gently stroking the curls above his ear in her thoughts. His face twitched slightly at her touch, and he returned to his uninterrupted slumber.

Astrid sighed, getting to her feet. She had to stretch her legs.

As the door clicked softly behind her, Walter opened his eyes, looking thoughtful with a frown.

xXx

"Ladys and Gent, I now call this meeting to order. Skipping the unessential dealings like that of the pledge of allegiance, et cetera, et cetera, the proceedings will continue accordingly; with the simple, but delightful, 'Yaay-Boo' game.

"I've finally isolated a compound in the drugs required to instate artificial hypnosis that makes for, let's just say, the hangover. This is progress, as the user will be able to remain in a trance-like state for a longer and more stable duration, with far less side effects." Walter crinkled the page in his hand, glancing up expectantly.

"Yaay," Peter and Astrid sounded, Peter seeming bored. Gene mooed in complaint.

Walter raised his fists above his head, "Yes, yaay. However," he dropped his arms to his hips, glaring at his yawning son, "_Peter_ has yet to finish patching the tank, so there is no proper way of testing my new and improved formula," he pointed, frowning sourly, "_Boo._"

"Boo," Astrid chided gently, and Peter chuckled.

"Moo," Peter added, patting Gene as she nuzzled his ear wetly.

Walter returned his gaze to the crinkled page, "Um. I was…? Ah. I fixed the centrifuge, but you have to poke it a bit with a pen to get it going. That's a yaay."

"Yaay."

"It wouldn't have been broken if you hadn't tried to make it into a roulette wheel," Peter pointed out.

"And I wouldn't be bored if you'd stop talking. Boo, boo for you being boring," Walter flicked a paperclip at his son, who batted it away and rolled his eyes, "moving on. On another, unexpected boo note, agent Farnsworth failed to remember not to put her coffee cup on the piano. Boo."

"Boo," Astrid conceded, hanging her head.

"But it's alright, because I'll miss it," Walter smiled at her.

Astrid blinked, "Wait- what do you mean, Walter?"

"I mean that often times, it leaves a sticky, unsightly ring on the finish-"

"No, not that. Miss it? Why would you miss it?"

"Because I will miss _you_, my dear." Walter said quietly, and Astrid swallowed.

"Walter. What are you talking about?" Peter questioned suspiciously, glancing at Astrid, who would not meet his gaze.

Walter smiled painfully, "I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about, son. You might try doing something less boring to retain my attention, please." he looked back down at the page, his eyes spanning it slowly as he took a long silence, "agent Farnsworth, did you leave anything edible in your coat?" he mused absently.

"Why?"

"Gene's eating it."

xXx


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter fifteen.

Lab coat to gurney equaled chin to cement. Physics was, in fact, a bitch.

"Whoa- Walter, are you okay?" Peter questioned as his father picked himself up from the lab floor, crossly tugging the hem of his coat free from its wedged place in the bar work of a gurney as he raised his sleeve to dab at a spot of blood on his face. Peter, despite his aloof nature, was at his shoulder almost immediately, examining the damage, "Hey, nice spill, just now."

"Thank you," Walter said stiffly, rubbing his aching jaw.

"Interesting that you took the fall to the face rather than risk food," Peter smirked, motioning to the partially-eaten calzoni Walter still protectively clutched.

"There's not much saving, when it comes to my face," Walter reasoned, "I'll heal, vittles won't."

"It's a little concerning to see where you place your priorities, Walter," Peter frowned fondly, "Here, get up, I'll get a Band-Aid."

"And a coke," Walter said as his son helped him to his feet, dusting his lab coat.

Peter chuckled, "Fine, I'll get you a coke. And judging by your foodstuffs hierarchy, I'd say you want the coke first," he grabbed his coat and headed for the vending machines that were somewhere off, down the hall. The lab door did not shut all the way, and Walter was finding it somehow difficult to take a bite of his calzoni while he kept pressure on his chin wound when Astrid quietly slipped inside, glancing carefully in the direction Peter had gone before shutting the door behind herself.

"Walter," she said, and he glanced up, "--oh my god, what happened to your face?" she descended the steps quickly, her cautiousness forgotten as she took his face in her hands.

Walter smiled, somehow elongating the jagged tear as he doffed his calzoni onto a table, "Agent Farnsworth! You're feeling better, I trust? You called in sick, so I thought you would take the entire day off to recuperate, but you vigilance in your work is astounding."

Astrid frowned as she shuffled around on a nearby gurney to retrieve a sterile cotton swab, dabbing at his wound, "I'm not sick, Walter. Tilt your chin a bit."

"Oh? Playing hooky, then? I envy you. But coming in and risking your alibi is not advisable," Astrid tipped his chin up to carefully dab a bit of salve on the cut, "are you doing something fun? Before coming in here, I mean."

"Walter, I needed to talk to you in private," Astrid said matter-of-factly, "apparently you heard that I'm being transferred."

"It's hard to sleep through even the most casual of Agent Broyles' sentiments- he's got that sexy, deep voice, you know?"

"Yeah, great. Walter, I have to ask you something-please don't tell Peter. About my transfer." Astrid smoothed a bandage over the cut gently.

Walter frowned, "Why?"

"This transfer- I don't know why I'm getting it, but I do know that wherever I'm going, I'm going to be of use. But Peter won't understand- he'll break necks, you know?"

"Why do I have to keep things from Peter? I don't understand the significance, agent Farnsworth. Peter is a completely capable young man, and I think you're greatly underestimating him. It isn't fair."

"I don't want Peter thinking I'm choosing my career over you guys," Astrid blurted.

Walter blinked slowly, his eyes narrowing, "…Meaning you have the choice, to go or stay."

Astrid sighed, brushing her hair back from her eyes as she slumped onto a clear bit of counter space, "Yes, Walter. And I've decided to do it," she glanced up at him, and continued, "but- the chances are, I'll get promoted, okay? From junior agent to agent- it doesn't seem too terribly important, but it is. Before I joined Fringe division, I had goals, you know? Since I've been here, it's been like everything has been standing still. Like the rest of the world has just been asleep, while we battle their nightmares. But if we want the world to be normal again, we've got to keep trying to _be_ normal." Astrid sighed again, rubbing her eyes with her fingertips, "So it's not about you guys, alright? I've just got to do this."

"Why are you trying to convince me?" Walter questioned softly.

"I don't know, Walter. I guess I thought that maybe you would understand."

"Do you think you'll be able to do it? To go on with life, catching criminals when you know that there's far worse things happening that need investigating, agent Farnsworth? It appears to me that perhaps it is not I that needs convincing in the logic of your methods, but _you._"

Astrid stared at him, then shook her head. She watched as he reached around her, leaning in closely as his hands shuffled behind her. When Walter drew back, he held a piece of paper and a marker, "This, agent Farnsworth, will be the summit of your efforts, if we fail," he held out the page to her, and she took it from him. A single, slightly crooked star had been drawn in blue, "I can cut it out for you, if you like," Walter offered.

Astrid's brows knitted as she stared at the shape for a few moments. "Tell me not to go, Walter," she said at last.

"Please don't transfer, Agent Farnsworth."

"Tell me why I shouldn't."

"I need you." Astrid looked up to see Walter smiling softly, and he crossed his arms across his chest, "You're saving the world, didn't you know?"

Astrid smiled, and held the page up to her chest, "I think this will do, for now," she joked.

Walter reached out to pull her in, nestling her into a hug with a chuckle. The page crinkled against the lapel of his lab coat as Astrid shut her eyes, squeezing him as if to reassure herself of his existence. "I really want a coke," Walter murmured into her hair, and Astrid laughed.

xXx

"_Olivia's coming back!"_

Peter looked up from his crossword, and Walter paused from seeing just how much of a toaster twist he could fit into his mouth, "What's that?" Peter questioned.

Astrid beamed, "Olivia! Broyles just called- he said she got off today, she should be back with us tomorrow!"

Peter repeatedly slapped his father's shoulders as he began to choke, dropping his crossword onto the table to attend to the distressed Walter, "Great! I guess now we can all get back to appreciating her and begging her to _never leave again_."

"It'll be nice to have her back," Astrid agreed, flouncing into her chair and spinning around to face her computer, "If only for a sense of order," she muttered before taking a sip of her coffee.

"I don't want any more toaster twists," Walter moaned weakly.

"Hey, what's with the decoration?" Peter questioned, pointing to the laminated paper star pinned to her jacket.

"Oh," Astrid said, touching it with her fingertip and smiling fondly, "It's just something… to tell me where I belong."

Peter smiled back, "In my opinion, we all need something like that." Peter turned to his Walter, taking him by the shoulder and pointing to the half-eaten pastry he was eyeing warily, "Walter, why don't you head over the cafeteria and warn them on the choking hazards of toaster twists?"

"Dear god- do you think this could happen to someone else?!" Walter gasped, wide-eyed.

Peter raised his brows, pressing his father out of the lab, "No. But go anyways," and he shut the door.

Astrid chuckled, shaking her head.

"Thank you, for not transferring," Peter said, making her glance up in alarm.

"Walter-!"

"No. Broyles told me. I'm not without my resources, you know, and I'm certainly not an idiot. You could have told me you were going to be transferred and get a promotion, I would have understood. Hell, you deserve a promotion."

Astrid shook her head, "It wouldn't matter if I did, Peter," she said, "I thought about it. A lot. And- what is it that I'm after, anyways? What can I do to make the world safer as an agent that would equal up to what I'm doing now? What good will a badge do me?"

"So that's the star?" Peter questioned.

Astrid smiled, "Yeah."

"So you're happy being Igor?"

"I am."

Peter sighed, sliding his hands into his pockets and glancing up at her from watching his own shoes, "For all it's worth, I'm happy you stayed."

"Thank your father. He's the one that synched it."

Peter's face fell, "Oh, no- he didn't ingest something toxic, did he? Threaten to light himself on fire again?"

Astrid laughed, "No! He was surprisingly insightful, for once. Anyways, I guess I'm just stuck down here in the basement, whether I like it or not."

"For the long haul?"

"For the long haul."

"Well, I'm glad for the company. Just don't tell Walter- he may just start _causing _ things, to keep us both around." Peter was about to add to his sentiment, when his cell phone gave a chime, and he pulled it from his pocket, holding it to his ear, "Hello?" His smile began to straiten, "What? Slow down, you're babbling. Stop crying, you'll be fine. No, Walter- I'll talk to campus police and sort this all out. Stay where you are, I'm coming to get you." he ended the call, rolling his eyes.

"Walter?" Astrid questioned, arching a brow.

"Isn't it always? Let's go, I'll buy you one of your amazingly disgusting, banana thingies."

"How can I turn down such a good time?" Astrid said with a smirk, grabbing up her coat.

xXx


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter sixteen.

"You're _ sure_ you don't want any of this?" Astrid questioned again, raising a brow, offering Peter another chance at her coffee.

"Yes, I'm sure. I told you, it's nasty," He repeated, breathing in the steam of his own cup of house roast, "Besides, in getting a specialized drink, we've wasted enough time that we're sure to see Walter weeping in the student district office."

"It didn't take that long!" Astrid exclaimed.

"The man is fast to tears- especially when he knows he can use them to get himself out of trouble," Peter held the door for Astrid as they exited the campus café, "It's like when a dog rolls over and shows its belly. And it's not like he doesn't have the fight left in him- we argued for three hours last night on which was the best two-dimensional shape, and why."

"Chicken or the egg?" Astrid smiled, and took a drink of her banana latte.

"No, the chicken-egg quandary has no end. But a triangle is the best two-dimensional shape, don't you think? Circles are lame as hell."

Astrid chuckled, "This is going to sound weird, but I'm bit curious as to the logic behind that."

"As long as you don't yell over my sentiments with senseless drabble about circles, I'd tell you. But I somehow figure we've got much more entertaining things to speak about." Peter ignored a group of female students as they passed, sneaking glances at him as he sipped his coffee.

Astrid watched him breeze off their attention casually, and smiled, "You would have made a horrible teacher," she said, after they had been left to their way in the hall.

"Why's that?" Peter questioned.

"Well, besides the fraudulent credentials, I don't believe one girl would pay any attention in your class whatsoever," Astrid said.

"So I'm both a phony _and _boring? Ouch," Peter smirked.

"That's not it at all," Astrid said as they rounded the corner toward the admissions hall, "You're a heartbreaker, Peter. Teachers like you have girls taking frivolous classes and failing miserably. It's sad."

"Speaking from experience?" Peter asked.

Astrid smiled and didn't answer.

"Well, in any case, I wasn't a very good at being a teacher, even when I was one. I'm far too myopic. I'd be too focused on what I was doing to pay attention to much else," Astrid looked over at him when he smiled, "When I care about something, it's the only thing that exists, in my world."

Astrid pulled her scarf up around her lips to hide the color that crept across her face. She jumped as Peter put his arm across her shoulders, perhaps mistaking her actions for being cold.

Shattering glass announced their arrival as they pushed open the office door, and the all-too familiar, rushing sound of a fire extinguisher, followed by exasperated cries.

Peter paused, looking back at Astrid, "Well, Walter's got it under control, we should go-"

"Peter! Did you have to go to Canada to pick out another drab sweater?! What took you so long?!" Walter demanded, covertly stowing a Zippo back into his pocket, "I've nearly died of boredom, in the company of these simpletons! But it appears that my distraction fire is now unnecessary."

"You're Peter Bishop? The guy this basket case keeps bawling about?" An agitated campus policeman growled, dusting bits of ash from slightly scorched uniform.

Peter smiled brightly, "No, sir. Wrong office."

xXx

Peter was perturbed at the sheer silence in the lab, when he entered, and raised a questioning brow as he looked around, fancying himself alone. He spotted Astrid working at her desk, and descended the steps, approaching her, "Hey."

Astrid glanced up, "Oh, hey. What's up?" her eyes returned to the computer screen.

"…Where's…?"

"Walter? Right there," she pointed with her pencil eraser over her shoulder, and Peter followed her directions to see his father seated, perfectly still, at a desk, his pen scribbling hurriedly over a notepad. He would pause every now and again to press his earphones into his ears to listen intently, then return to scribbling. Astrid did not look up at Peter's expression of question, "He's translating."

"Russian?" Peter asked, surprised.

"Temperature."

"What?"

"Sean Paul. He keeps insisting that he sings in a different language. Communist messages, something."

Peter chuckled, shaking his head as he settled the to-go containers onto the table, and Astrid smiled, "In any case, I got lunch. Apple salad and a cheese quesadilla, correct?"

"Hot sauce?" Astrid questioned, at last looking away from her work.

"Of course," Peter gathered her order out of the bag, passing it over to her. He watched as she pushed aside her keyboard, setting up her lunch, "Strange order there, soldier," Peter joked.

"Yeah," Astrid shrugged, popping the top off of the small condiment container, "I've just been craving it, maybe it's the season changing, I don't know." She paused to dip a slice of apple into the sauce, popping it into her mouth.

Peter made a small face, "I'm sure." He delved bag into the bag to pull out a white, Styrofoam container and a plastic fork, "I wish I could say the same for Walter's eating habits, but they appear to be an ongoing parade of bizarre foodstuffs…Walter!" Peter called, and Walter glanced up, "vittles."

Walter dropped the headphones and pen onto the desktop to rise, rubbing his forehead in tired confusion and muttering something about "Angry bananas…"

"Pica cravings have been known to be seasonal," Peter considered reasonably as Walter retrieved his food, then retreated again, "showing a lack of an essential nutrient that you might not be getting in your normal diet."

"Peter, it's apples and hot sauce," Astrid said flatly.

He looked apologetic, "I'll give you that. I guess I'm just trying to make sense of your liking of really gross things."

"How do you mean?" Astrid said, amused as she ate another wedge of apple.

"First, your work. Enough said."

"And? Just work and salsa apples?"

"Nah, your lattes. Really seriously, I'm not kidding. _Eww_." He smiled as Astrid laughed.

"Have you even tried the apples? You might like them, too," Astrid said, offering. He looked slightly repulsed, and she frowned fondly, "Don't be a chicken, go on."

"I'm not chicken," Peter exclaimed, "and what are you, ten? Fine, I guess I might be able to survive just _one_…" He fished a slice of apple out of her salad, dunking it in the red hot sauce and eating it. He chewed in silence for a few moments, then swallowed. "The chili makes it bitter," he concluded.

"Yeah, but inhale. Your breath is sweet," Astrid said, and he nodded in agreement, looking slightly surprised, "It's good, isn't it?"

"As bigoted as I am about food… it is."

"See? You like gross things, too." She returned to eating her apples.

Peter laughed, setting out to gather his own lunch. He was twisting open a soda when he addressed her again, "So Olivia. Tomorrow."

"Yes. I miss her, as weird as that may sound."

"No, it isn't. But I was thinking, I mean, things around here won't be nearly as hectic, with her back… we might have time to hear ourselves think." He popped open his own to-go container, prodding at his Spanish rice with a plastic fork, "and I realize my timing hasn't been the greatest, lately… but I was wondering if, maybe, you'd like to try having drinks some time. Again."

Astrid looked up at him, a spot of sauce on her chin.

Peter dabbed it away with a napkin and a smile, "I only offer drinks because I have yet to find a unique enough restaurant for you." His face straitened as Astrid covertly glanced over her shoulder at Walter, "What?" he questioned.

Walter dropped his eyes back to the page, flushing red as he scribbled hurriedly, refusing to look up. He shoveled enchilada into his mouth to cancel any conversation.

"I don't know, Peter," Astrid said quickly, pushing her lunch aside and returning to her work, "we'll see, I guess."

Peter frowned, stabbing into his guacamole.

xXx


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter seventeen.

There it was again. That smell.

Walter lifted his head from his chest with a snort, blinking awake. For a moment, his thoughts sank, as he suspected the sweet scent in his nostrils to be a waking memory of his already forgotten dreams, until he inhaled again, traces lingering in the air around him.

Mandarin oranges.

Walter squinted around at his settings, rubbing the cold from the sides of his face in thought. At last his hand stumbled over the remote control on the arm of the chair, and he switched off the muted television, dropping the control onto the floor unheedingly as he sat up, stretching the kinks from his spine with a sigh. He smelled again, cautiously- it was still there.

Walter at last got to his feet, pushing his cold toes into his house shoes and smelling again. Carefully, he began to track the citrus scent, shuffling a few steps in one direction, then another. He was misled for a few moments as he caught traces of the smell on his scarf and jacket on the table, making him frown with bewilderment.

"Peter," Walter said at last. Peter rolled over on the bed, ignoring him with a grumble that sounded dangerously close to being anti-establishment. Walter continued his search.

His strides took him in a jagged path to the front door, and he yanked it open, leaning out to inhale the air in the hall.

Astrid stepped back in alarm, "Walter!" she exclaimed.

Walter stared at her in return. He blinked, stepping out of the room and into the hall, taking a hold of her shoulder gently to lean forward and smell her neck. His eyes sprang open with a smile- scent located.

"Walter?" Astrid questioned, a blush tracing her bewildered expression.

Walter straitened, "I dream about you."

"What?"

"Your smell, the scent of your perfume- mandarin oranges. I dream about it, some times." He smiled, "I'm so happy I've tracked it down, it's been bothering me for weeks!"

Astrid pulled up her scarf to sniff it, "Do you not like it? You said it's bothering you…"

"Oh, no, not at all! I quite like it. It smells like it should taste." He did not bother to elucidate as Astrid looked slightly taken aback, and he was far too enthusiastic about his discovery, "Peter, I found the smell!" Walter exclaimed.

"_Magical_," Peter muttered into his pillow.

"Quite. So," Walter returned his attention to Astrid, cheery, "what is it you're doing here, then?"

"Oh- um, we're carpooling, remember? Peter said we could meet in the lobby, but I've been waiting down there for a half an hour, so I thought I'd come up and see what the hang-up was, that's all."

"Oh, dear. I wonder if Peter forgot to reset the clock for daylight savings," Walter frowned wryly, "Or, was I supposed to do that…? Hmm."

"Nice shirt, by the way," Astrid commented, motioning to his OBEY GRAVITY tee-shirt.

"Ah- yes. Although truthfully, I've found gravity to be nothing short of a hindrance, to my cause. I was out of proper pajamas, I must apologize. But I suppose I should start getting dressed, seeing as we're already late," Walter passed her to move across the hall, delving into his pocket to draw out his keycard and swipe it.

Astrid followed him curiously, "You have your own room, now?" She questioned.

"Yes. I've had it for a while, now- drat, I left the fan going," he muttered, switching off the appliance at his bedside. He turned back to the door, "Well, come on in. I can't have you lurking out in the hall, it's unprepossessing." He watched as she stepped inside, and shut the door.

The scent was so faint that it was nearly unnerving, when she moved.

Walter ignored his own thoughts as he proceeded on to his objectives, "So, yes," he told the air in the closet as he searched for a button-down, "how have you been, miss? How are Mittens and the rest of the coterie?"

"Good," Astrid smiled, stooping slightly to look over a newspaper Walter had dissected over the table, "Um, Walter… why did you cut the word 'and' from all of the headlines?"

"It bothers me," Walter answered reasonably, retreating into the bathroom to change, "you see it too much. The word- it tags along. Like whatever it possessed shouldn't be there," he sat at the edge of the bathtub, struggling one shoe on, then the other, "sometimes it's simply a matter of perception, to see the seams of reality… and you pick out the things that simply don't belong."

"Speaking from experience, Walter?"

He smiled dolefully, "So it would seem," he answered to himself.

"Shouldn't we be waking Peter?" Astrid asked as Walter emerged, smoothing down his shirt front across his belly.

"Why?" Walter asked.

"If we want to get out of here on time, I mean."

"Ah. Well, in that case, I suppose that we should," Walter smiled, "we could call him on the telephone."

"Or… just go over there," Astrid pointed out, jabbing her thumb back, toward the door.

"No dice," Walter answered, "I haven't got a key card."

Astrid frowned at him, confused, "Okay."

They stood in silence for a few moments, blinking at each other. At last Astrid looked away, shaking her head with a chuckle, "You're so _weird_, Walter. It kills me."

"A good weird, or a bad weird?" He questioned, pleased that he had made her smile a second time, if only for him. She had an amazing smile. He might just count them, today. But numbers, he decided, would not do them justice.

"A good weird, I think. I don't think I could take the bad weird, coming from you."

"What's the bad weird?"

Astrid considered, "You know, I don't know. Just the kind of weird you aren't, the kind of weird that's rubbing off on me."

"You're the new weird," Walter smiled, and Astrid laughed. He was wrong- if there was one thing that couldn't be beautified with numerals, it was her laugh. Perhaps he could ask her, now, "Miss." Standing here, wishing he could clear his thoughts of citrus on her collar.

"Hmm?"

"I'd like to query outright if I have a chance."

Astrid's brows furrowed with confusion, "A chance on what?"

_Go on, you moron, don't stop now. One word- go! _"You."

Astrid appeared more afraid than surprised, and stammered out her statement as more of a confirmation than a question, edging back on her heel, "What do you mean?"

A deep breath- but not too deep, he didn't want to seem as nervous as he felt. And he tried not to chew at the inside of his cheek, "Just that- do I have a chance, for you? It would be nice to know. It appears that I have developed a certain fondness for you, miss, and while I am admitting this to you, it would be nice to know if my feelings exist without resonation." _Nice to know that I look like a complete jackass._

She was silent for what felt like a painfully long time. He suddenly whished that he had left the fan on, if only for background noise. At last her eyes dropped from his face to the floor, and as she spoke, his bottom lip twitched at the sound. "Walter."

He waited.

"You… you're really amazing. I mean, I've never met a person like you- I don't think there are many people like you, and sometimes I think that it's a good thing. And, I mean, I'm flattered," she confessed, "but…"

Walter let out a soft exhale through his teeth, silent and unnoticeable. 'But'… a word he immediately decided that he hated more than 'and'.

"I don't think that something like us would be appropriate."

Ow. What was that? Why did his throat suddenly hurt? He cleared it before he spoke, "I see."

They were silent again. Walter suddenly wished that he was alone and could stick his finger into the fan to manifest the pain that seemed to be rapidly expanding in his chest, "I'll go wake up Peter," Astrid whispered at last, and Walter nodded, as she slinked out of the room and shut the door.

Walter sighed and slid his hands into his pockets, deciding to stare at the ceiling for a bit, and curse that haunting scent from his mind.

xXx

"Olivia!" Astrid called, beaming as she waved to the lone figure standing, aloof, near the building entrance. Olivia smiled in return as they approached, greeting them each in turn.

"How was the old grindstone?" Peter questioned, arching a brow.

"Are you kidding?" Olivia replied, "I don't think I have any skin left on my nose, they were pushing so hard."

Walter sauntered up to Olivia, sighing and throwing his arms around her lazily, "Uh… hi, Walter," Olivia managed, perplexed.

"Sorry," Peter apologized, "He's been in a mood, this morning…"

"You have a nose," Walter murmured into her collar, "it just has freckles. 'Missed you."

"Walter, let her go," Peter frowned flatly.

Walter shifted to glare at him, his grip tightening, "Why?"

"You're suffocating me," Olivia confessed weakly.

"Shall we 'lab'?" Astrid offered brightly, motioning grandly to the door. Olivia was waving off Walter's apology as they stepped inside, and Astrid delved into her pocket for her buzzing blackberry, lifting it to find that she had received a new text message. From Peter.

She glanced up at him, and he acted as if her had not noticed. She opened the message, her brows furrowing with curiosity.

_What is up with Walter??_

She lied back, even as she tossed her coat and scarf on the rack, and Walter chanced a glance at her, and retreated into the office.

_Idk._

Peter answered from under the table, and went back to his conversation with Olivia. He smiled at Astrid as she received the message.

_Hes acting weird. Weirder that average._

Astrid sighed as she sat at her desk, beginning to boot up the several consoles that comprised her work environment, and she had to think a bit for the correct reply- a joke.

_Something he ate? lol_

Peter looked up after he read her response, and Astrid pretended to be occupied with charts. He frowned with alarm, excused himself from the conversation, and headed after his father. She received his reply as he shut the door:

_I don't like liars._

xXx

_I have to say: yaay, Olivia! I missed her, as odd as that seems.^.^_

_~F_


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter eighteen.

"Whatcha doin'?" Peter asked casually as he entered the office, quietly shutting the door behind himself. His father looked up from staring into the heater grate.

"Warming my tootsies," he replied with a quick smile, wiggling his toes to show that his feet were bare, and he returned them to their propped position near the warmth, "this place gets chilly, and my feet sometimes find it unbearable." Walter returned to staring at the grate on the wall, saying no more on the subject.

They were silent for a while, and Peter smoothed his hands into his pockets. "So, what's up?" he asked at last, breaking the still.

Walter frowned, "As much as I love repetition, your queries are growing monotonous." Walter shifted in his seat with a soft grunt, "Meaning that you're here for something other than to inquire upon the dullness of my current, tootsie-warming activities."

Peter spared a chuckle.

"So what do you want?" Walter asked with an arched brow.

Peter let out a soft sigh, "I'm worried about you, Walter. You're acting weird, okay? I just want to help."

Walter's eyes sharpened, and Peter knew that he had treaded where he should not have, "Is that so?" Walter said in a quiet tone, "You're certain it's me that draws your concern, and not _her_?"

"No, Walter-"

"You don't have to worry about me, Peter. No, no, no. I know a losing battle when I see one," Walter sat up straight in his chair, removing his feet from the grate, "I'd say I'm taking defeat rather well, wouldn't you?"

"Walter, what are you talking about?" Peter questioned firmly, "You're not making any sense. What happened, this morning?"

Walter, who had been showing the obvious signs of working himself up into a shouting match, suddenly dropped his glare, his face falling, "I lost," he answered quietly.

"Lost at what?"

Walter glanced up, "My feelings are a little bruised, Peter. I'd like to be alone, for a bit. Please go."

Peter frowned, "Not until you tell me what the hell happened. You're freaking me out."

Walter glanced at the door behind Peter, and Peter turned to follow his gaze. Olivia looked awkward, shifting at the sudden attention, "Um. Sorry to interrupt…whatever, I just needed this filing, Astrid said it was in here…"

"Oh- let me get it for you-" Peter started, before Walter was extending the paperwork toward her. Olivia accepted it, still looking back and fourth between them.

"Thanks, Walter," Olivia said with a quick smile, and she departed.

Walter returned to his seat and began to rummage through the scattered paperwork and tidbits on the desktop, avoiding his son's glare. He found a foil-wrapped piece of unfinished chocolate bar, at last returning Peter's stare as he tugged the wrapper away, "…what?"

Peter shook his head, "No, Walter."

Walter nibbled the chocolate innocently.

Peter set his hands on his hips, and repeated in a firm tone of authority, "_No,_ Walter."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Joo crazy." Walter smiled, taking another bite of his chocolate.

xXx

The one thing that Astrid suddenly realized was that, with Olivia's return, she and Peter would be out a lot more.

Leaving her to her lonesome with Walter.

He was using a flashlight to check the seal on Peter's fresh welds in the tank, the soft, gong-like noises of his knocking faint in the empty recesses of the vacant lab. He poked his head out as she descended the steps, stopping her in her tracks, "Would you be a dear and do something for me?" he questioned.

"Okay," Astrid said uneasily, reaching the cement slab floor and keeping her distance from the tank.

Walter pretended to take no notice of it. "I'm going to shine the torch on the walls, in here. Could you tell me if you see any light spots- holes, in the seams?"

"Okay," Astrid repeated, setting her computer onto the desktop and brushing past the tall compression tanks of nitrogen to get back to him. Walter smiled at her in thanks, and disappeared inside, the twin doors clanging softly to seal him inside.

A few moments of silence passed, and there came a muffled call of "Now?!"

"No!" Astrid called back. She reached forward to knock, showing where she was. More silence passed, and they repeated the call and confirmation several times, before Astrid kicked herself and spoke, "Walter, it wasn't right, what I said this morning."

"What?!" Walter called out, "A leak?!"

"I said it wasn't right what I said!" Astrid clarified. She sighed shortly, gathering her courage again, "You deserve a better explanation that that!"

"...What?!"

"I said you deserve a better explanation!" She found having to repeat herself both irritating and jarring to her composure, "Walter, it's not just that I think that we- I mean-"

"...What?!"

"God damn it, Walter, you're not making this easy!" Astrid snapped, "Listen for ten damn seconds, would you?!"

Silence followed, and she continued.

"I shouldn't have shrugged you off like that. It wasn't fair. Not just to you, but…to me, as well." She ignored the sound of something starting in the lab, as if trying to interrupt her again, and she touched the cold metal of the rusted outside of the tank, "Walter, I-" he began to knock on the tank, the booming strikes silencing her for a few moments, before she flared, "Stop interrupting! You and Peter are so busy fighting, did you ever stop to consider what _I_ thought about all of this?!" The banging continued, and she was livid, "Fine! Think what you want, Walter! I was only trying to apologize!" She swept away from the tank, storming off.

When her anger had subsided slightly, she heard the flashlight shatter, and she turned back to the tank sharply, her brows furrowing with concern as the banging continued, "Walter…?" her eyes widened, "Walter!"

Astrid jumped the steps to race to the tank pump, which had somehow started itself, beginning to fill the sealed tank with icy water, "Oh my god! Walter, hang on!" She hauled down the emergency shutoff switch, killing power to the pump, then darted to the doors of the tank, gripping the two handles of the heavy ingresses and hauling at them. She exclaimed as she found them jammed, "Walter!" she cried, "push, Walter!"

Straining every muscle she possessed, Astrid pulled at the doors, and they creaked and groaned, at last slipping and giving way. Astrid lost her footing and fell backward as the doors boomed open, water gushing out, onto the lab floor. Walter surfaced from within the tank, sputtering and gasping for breath. He coughed and hacked, spitting water as he slumped against the entryway, panting. He cleared his throat, smearing dark, wet curls away from his face, "I'm sorry. You were saying?"

Astrid smiled, her eyes misty, "Walter, you're such an idiot!" she said.

He grinned, "Yes."

She got to her feet, ignoring her bruised hip as she went to him, throwing her arms around his neck and squeezing him tightly. Walter chuckled, draping an arm around her middle, "God damn it, Walter," Astrid whispered. She stepped back, wiping her eyes, "You've got to be more careful, you know?"

Walter nodded quietly, adding, "sorry."

Astrid took his face in her hands and kissed him.

xXx


	19. FINAL CHAPTER

_Alright, so a brief note of explanation. As you will note, there are two final chapters, to this story. You may think that I've finally lost it (and I wouldn't argue with you), but while I was painfully debating Astrid's decision of which Bishop to choose, I was made aware of my own dilemma- I didn't want to disappoint any of you, in not getting the ending you wanted._

_And so, a Pastrid-loving muse straight-up solved it for me: an ending for Walter, and an ending for Peter. GENIUS._

_The ending that you are about to read is for Walstrid; note, Walter _did _get more votes. If you would like to read the ending for Pastrid, you may select the chapter following this one.^.^_

_~F_

Final(ish) Chapter.

"Is this the one?"

"No."

"Is this the one?"

"No."

"Is this-"

"Walter, I've already told you, you don't have to replace the book," Astrid said tiredly, as he frowned down at another paperback he had selected, "Besides, that's not even the right writer."

"I knew that," Walter said, "I was only testing you." He placed the book back on the shelf, shrugging his cardigan straight on his shoulders. They were silent for a few moments as he continued to scan the shelves, "… what about that one?"

Astrid sighed, stilling his hand as he reached for the book, "Again, no. And again, don't worry about it."

He reached for the book with his other hand, "Just have a look- I did ruin the thing, and now that I have a chance to replace it, I think that-"

Astrid stilled his other hand with a chuckle, "Walter, we're just passing through on the way to the Starbucks."

"Yes- that only makes it a matter of convenience," Walter insisted, "A plus- you can tell me your book, and you can read it over coffee… Is it that one? I think it's that one."

Astrid rolled her eyes with a smile, "Walter, I already have a book."

"You got it?!" Walter exclaimed, seeming hurt, "I was going to replace it!"

"Not the book I loaned you, Walter," she said. She reached into her bag, pulling out a tattered paperback, "and I don't need another one."

Walter took the Time Machine from her, chuckling as he flipped it open, "It is a good book. My favorite."

Astrid leaned up to kiss him on the cheek, "Mine, too."

xXx

The relentless chime of her cell phone woke her at last, and she scrambled for it, falling off the side of the bed with a yelp. Mittens let out a soft mew of complaint, having been pulled down by the blankets, and she leapt back onto the bed to settle around her two sleeping sons. Astrid's fingers closed around the buzzing device, and she flipped her cell open, answering groggily from the floor, "Agent Farnsworth."

"Yes, hello, good evening," came a distant, quiet voice across the speaker, and Astrid blinked, confused in the dark, "It's Walter, Walter Bishop, from the lab. We work together, I don't know if you remember."

"I remember, Walter," Astrid grumbled, sitting up on the carpet and rubbing her eyes, "What are you doing? Is something wrong?"

"Oh. Um, no, no, I don't think so. I was phoning to…well, to ask you if I could perhaps call you. Admittedly, my logic seems flawed, at this point," there was faint shifting, in the background.

Tired, Astrid climbed back into bed, the phone still to her ear, "Well, I guess you have your answer, then. But please don't call so late, next time, okay?"

"So I may call you?" Walter's voice brightened.

Astrid smiled softly, "Sure, Walter, whatever. See you tomorrow."

"Um," Walter protested, and she paused, "I won't be at the lab, tomorrow. Peter seems to think I function better with a proper amount of sunlight exposure, so we're going to the park. Would you like to come?"

"Nah, I've got work," Astrid replied, "I guess I'll just see you around, then," she stifled a yawn.

There was silence. "I would like to see you," he admitted.

"Walter, I've got to keep this line open," Astrid replied tiredly, "Call me back tomorrow, okay?"

"Oh- yes, very well. I do hope I remember. It was wonderful speaking to you, miss Angel."

"Do you even realize what you keep calling me?" she questioned.

Walter chuckled softly, "Goodnight, my dear," and the line went dead.

Astrid sighed, tossing the phone back onto her side table, flopping onto her pillows deadly, "You idiot, Astrid, what have you gotten yourself into, now?" but tonight, she slept.

xXx

END. Sorta.


	20. FINAL CHAPTER again

(another) Final Chapter.

"Lies, all lies! Everything I've been told is a lie! Grunions are fish, Pluto isn't a planet, and there's no actual candy in Candyland!"

"Technically, Pluto is a planetoid," Peter muttered, not looking up from his crossword. Olivia looked between them, a small smile playing uncertainly on her features as she listened to Walter ranting.

"Exactly! Science, once more, proves us all complete fools!" Walter huffed, clattering through a collection of glass flasks. He yelped sharply as he burned his knuckle on an active Bunsen burner, growling a curse as he raised his head to shout, "Miss! Where the devil did you hide my triple-neck?!"

"Walter, _why_ do you need a triple-necked beaker?" Peter questioned cynically, at last looking up from his task, "Those are illegal, you know."

"Yes, well!" Walter said, seeming uncomfortable as he rubbed his burnt knuckle, "I certainly can't refine hydrogen and carbon and other things without a triple-neck-"

"_What_ other things, Walter?" Peter pressed.

"…Nitrous oxide…" Walter murmured shyly.

Peter tossed his newspaper onto the desktop, "Walter, those are the chemicals for making cocaine. Did you ever stop to wonder _why _ the triple-necked beaker is illegal?"

Walter looked cowed, "But it-"

"You're not manufacturing crack it the lab," Peter snapped finally. Olivia was chuckling quietly, shaking her head, when Astrid arrived, carrying with her the requested equipment.

"This one, Walter?" She questioned.

"Don't worry about it, Astrid- Walter won't be needing it," Peter said, rising from his seat to glare at his father while he passed, "I'll take that, if you want-" he reached forward to take it from her, and the beaker somehow slipped in transfer, falling to shatter on the cement floor.

Walter let out a horrified cry and Olivia jumped with surprise, and Astrid blinked in shock, "um… oops?" she offered.

Walter was scrambling to gather the fragments of glass, "Does everyone have to treat my lab tools like baseball equipment?! Oh, this is just hopeless!"

Peter and Astrid both stooped to help gather pieces, "Don't sweat it, Walter, we can get you another one," Peter said, "provided you aren't going to be using it for a meth lab…"

"I'm sorry, Walter," Astrid apologized, "It's just- there was dust, and-"

"No, it was my bad," Peter said, "I grabbed it wrong-"

"No, Peter, I-"

"Seriously, Astrid-"

Walter exclaimed, cutting himself. He brought the cut to his mouth, "Hopefully I'll manage to bleed to death," he grumbled, dropping his gathered pieces, pushing himself back to his feet, "I'll be back with a broom, when you two are done debating the quandary of humpty-dumpty." Walter was grumbling something about uselessness as he swept away, nursing his wound. Olivia watched the situation in an awkward silence, and seemed grateful as her phone gave a chime, and she had to step out to answer the call.

"Dunham," she said as she shut the door behind herself.

Peter shook his head, standing as he dusted his hands, "Oh well. Walter's probably got three or four of them floating around, somewhere." He looked up as Astrid gave a sigh, slumping down at her desk, "What's wrong?" Peter questioned.

"Nothing," Astrid replied. Peter pulled up a chair to sit across the desk from her, propping his elbow on a stack of paperwork.

"Nuh-uh. You've been out of it, lately."

Astrid glanced up at him, then shook her head, "Peter, when the pump malfunctioned, and Walter, he almost drown…"

"Yes? Don't worry, Astrid. The stuff it this place might be positively prehistoric, but as long as we've got each other's back to defend against evil, expired machinery, nothing will go wrong. And I guess I have to thank you, for saving my father. Or at least, congratulate you, for even keeping up with him." But Astrid was shaking her head.

"It's not that. Believe me, I know how the stuff in here can go on the fritz. But… Peter, I care about Walter."

Peter swallowed, "Okay."

"That's not to say, in _that _ way," Astrid stammered, reddening slightly, "I mean, I care about him, what happens to him… and when he almost died, I was terrified… Peter, Walter means a lot to me."

"For novel value alone," Peter joked.

Astrid spared him a smile, "Something like that. But he's.. he's the reason I keep coming back, I guess. He did get me to stay, if only to be more irritating than ever. But, I guess it's a little like the way you care about him."

"He grows on you, doesn't he?"

"Peter, Walter's the reason you keep coming back, too."

"He's not the only reason."

Astrid glanced up at him, "I know."

Peter sighed softly, leaning back in his chair, "What are you trying to say?"

Astrid scratched her forehead, "I guess… that I care about you, too, Peter. In a completely different way."

Peter raised his eyebrows, "So… you're saying I can take you out to dinner again?"

Astrid got to her feet, her face burning as she glared at him, stepping toward him. Peter exclaimed in alarm before she leaned in, grasping him by the collar to pull him in and kiss him, "_That's _what I'm saying, Peter."

"But that's what I said," Peter murmured, slightly flabbergasted.

Astrid smiled, "You owe me a banana latte, in any case."

"Consider it done. In fact-"

Olivia cleared her throat, and Astrid and Peter jumped apart, "Yeah, sorry. I have to head down to the federal building, Charlie's got some files for me to pick up."

"Okay," Astrid replied, trying to hide her flushed face behind her laptop screen.

"Good luck, drive safe," Peter added, amusing himself by bending a paperclip in half.

Olivia smiled, shaking her head. "Walter!" She called, and he emerged from somewhere with a bucket and a brush for Gene, having forgotten his original purpose, "Want to go for a ride?"

Walter blinked in surprise, "…Now?"

"Yeah. It's only down to the federal building- come on." Olivia only continued to smile quietly to her self as she gathered her coat and keys, heading out the door.

Walter was pulling on his own coat, working out the situation in his head, when he suddenly glanced up at Peter, still seeming confused, "Do you think she likes me, son?"

Peter chuckled, "No, Walter."

Walter looked slightly offended, "Who asked your opinion?" and he scampered out of the lab, grumbling something about chest hair.

A few minutes passed and the sound of bubbling chemicals could be heard, in the nearly vacant lab, as Peter and Astrid quietly debated dinner plans, circles and squares, and circumnavigation.

xXx

END.


End file.
